After The End
by Vreeka
Summary: Two souls bound by love are torn apart by death and duty. But Buffy and Angel are meant to be, and love always finds a way. "He realizes now that he lost reason somewhere amidst her calm composure and her great green eyes." Rated M for Mature Themes.
1. Prologue Part I: My Life Closed Twice

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

What you need to know (for the prologue): Set at the end of NFA, Buffy comes to help end the next apocalypse, when things go horribly awry.

Spoilers: So far, nothing specific.

* * *

**PROLOGUE PART I: **

My Life Closed Twice

_My life closed twice before its close-  
__It yet remains to see  
__If immortality unveil  
__A third event to me_

_So huge, so hopeless to concieve  
__As these that twice befell.  
__Parting is all we know of Heaven,  
__And all we need of Hell. _

_~Emily Dickenson_

"I always hoped it would end this way."

Her voice is but a whisper, faint even to him. She knows she has only moments left. Unlike the other death experiences she's had throughout her life, this time, she's caught unaware. But after having died twice, she feels no fear, only welcomes the peace. And like the first time, she's not ready to die. Not when everything she's wanted, seems to finally be within her grasp. However, this missed opportunity is not surprising. This has always been the story of her life.

For his part, he ignores the suggestion of finality he hears in not only her words, but also in the disjointed flow of her breath.

"This isn't the end. Help is coming. Any minute now."

Her eyes sparkle for a second, and with all sincerity she says, "I always hoped i'd die in your arms. Someone's finally giving me a break."

"You aren't-"

The slight pressure of her fingers on his lips isn't what quiet hims, it's the fact that her fingers are as cold as he is.

"If you're going to lie to me, at least let it be something I want to hear."

The confusion is crystal clear in his eyes.

"Tell me you love me." She says after a moment, to clarify.

He doesn't have time to dwell on the guilt he feels at her words, nor the regret he has for having been stupid enough to have left her that night in Sunnydale, 5 wasted years ago. Not even enough to explain the depth of what he's always felt for her.

"I won't lie to you. That said, I love you Buffy. Always."

It's all he can say. He runs his knuckles down the side of her face gently, and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly at his touch. With effort, she lifts her hand and places it over the hand that cups her cheek.

"And I love you, in this life, and in the next."

"Sssssshhh... stop talking like that, you're going to be ok, you just have to stay strong."

His voice cracks because he knows the words are meaningless. But her death is a reality he can't face. Not yet.

"You have to promise me you won't give up, that you'll carry on."

He takes in an un-needed breath, he can't agree to that. He's faced her death two times too many, lived through it once, and the idea of doing it again, is impossible.

"Please don't ask that of me."

The tears that he's been holding at bay, in an attempt to stay strong for her, finally slide down his face. In all the moments he's held her, he feels her strength, her warmth, right now, he barely hears her pulse. The scent of her blood surrounds him, and the demon inside of him recoils at it. It too loves her, fears her death in the most primal way. He knows she can't hold on much longer, and he won't be able to either.

"I know it seems impossible but someday, we'll find each other again. When it's your time. Til then, I'll wait for you, forever if I have to."

Pain shoots through her, causing her body to spasm and her breath to hitch. It's nearly time.

"Promise me." She barely manages to say.

He hesitates, because he doesn't want to consider life without her, but he has no other choice. He'll do anything she asks of him.

"I promise. But I refuse to let it come to that."

There isn't enough time left to argue, so she simply says, "Kiss me, Angel." Though every word is an effort, she must use her last breath to utter his name, and die with his kiss on her lips.

He can feel her leaving him, and he finds himself cursing the cause that has always taken her away from him. He lowers his head, and softly places his lips over hers. For one clear moment, there is only her, there is only him.

Then she's gone.

He finds himself rooted to the spot. As he looks down at her, as he holds her lifeless body, he's comforted momentarily by the peaceful look on her face. Then it all comes rushing back; eternity without her.

He prays death will find him soon.

* * *

A/N: This is my first attempt at a series, so I warn you that it might not be the greatest. But it's an idea that came to me from reading a poem yet to be disclosed, and I wanted to attempt it. I realize the details about how she dies, and what causes it are very vague, but it really isn't important. Some backdrop will be given throughout the story, as flashbacks. So the story jumps around quite a bit. Be ware.

So if anything doesn't make sense as of now, don't worry it soon will. Also, the prologue will be a two parter in order to set the story up.

Please review, and constructive criticism is always welcome! (just please, be gentle!)


	2. Prologue Part II: Night Thoughts

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

* * *

**PROLOGUE PART II: Night Thoughts**

_Night Thoughts_

_Stars, you are unfortunate, I pity you,  
__Beautiful as you are, shining in your glory,  
__Who guide seafaring men through stress and peril  
__And have no recompense from gods or mortals,  
__Love you do not, nor do you know what love is.  
__Hours that aeons urgently conducting  
__Your figures in a dance through the vast heaven,  
__What journey have you ended in this moment,  
__Since lingering in the arms of my beloved  
__I lost all memory of you and midnight._

_~Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe_

"It was not meant to end this way."

She's not sure why she is concerned, trivial things such as the life and death of mortals and immortals alike, are beneath her. Her duty is to the balance of good and evil, nothing more. But even she cannot deny the sacrificies these two warriors have made to her purpose.

"Perhaps. But it is past, and it is not our concern."

While he might agree with her, he also knows that if it has happened, it was meant to be.

"It is not our place to interfere."

His words do the opposite of what he intends.

"I beg to differ, brother. I am sure you remember our previous... interference, as you so put it. It was not our place then either."

"It was necessary. It is our duty to maintain the balance. Besides, it was not his time yet."

"And now it will mean nothing."

"He'll be given life after death. Is that not what he was promised? A time frame was never part of the bargain."

It is not entirely what was meant for the vampire with a soul, but he finds it to be reward enough.

She hears the dismissal in his voice, the disregard he has for human life, his ignorance to the greatness that is love. Though she is beyond time and space, she can still feel the immensity of their love. She cannot leave it at this.

After a moments pause, she speaks. "And the slayer?"

"What of her?"

"While you may be correct regarding the vampire, surely you are aware that there was more intended for her."

She waits for his argument, but he says nothing.

Though he is incapable of feeling, the mention of the slayer gives him pause. He knows she is right in this matter, the greatest slayer to have ever lived does indeed deserve more than a death in the arms of a vampire.

"What would you have me do?"

If she were capable of physical attributes, a smile would be seen on her face at getting him to bend to her will.

"Set her free."

* * *

A/N: To reiterate, this is my first attempt at a series, so it's still a work in progress. That also means that updates may occasionally take a little longer than normal. I apologize for that, but I DO intend on finishing this story. There's this entire story in my head that I need to get out, so it won't get abandoned, that's for sure.

The entities speaking are exactly who you think they are, the PTB. Since I sort of imagine them as being above such trivialities such as physicality, I imagine time has its own laws wherever they are, so there is no time frame here except for it being after Buffy's death.

The lack of details works for the moment, but it'll all come together soon. But as you all well know, I'm a diehard B/A fan so there is no surprise how it'll end in that regard.

In the meantime please review, and any helpful tips are always welcome. So if you do, thank you!


	3. Chapter I: Time Is

Because no one likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

What you need to know: The prologue. (haha)

Oh... and there are a few time jumps, the starting point being Buffy's death. So keep that in mind.

a/n: I send out a massive thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, alerted! You ALL rock my world! SOOOOO, without further ado, here's chapter one!

* * *

******CHAPTER ONE: Time Is**

_Time is  
__Too slow for those who Wait,  
__Too swift for those who Fear,  
__Too long for those who Grieve,  
__Too short for those who Rejoice;  
__But for those who Love,  
__Time is  
__Eternity_

_~Henry Van Dyke_

It is not worth mentioning the immediate days after her death since there is only one word needed to describe what it'd been like for him: meaningless.

**Day 14**

Her death works like glue, and ties him to those she leaves behind. The idea of parting, despite the fact that half of them hate him, is not an option. He may have promised her to carry on, but he's promised himself he'll take care of them, for her.

Willow, as expected, accepts him at once. He still doesn't understand why she always has faith in him but she does, despite the hole it has created between her and the others.

"Stop fighting for me Willow."

His voice relays nothing even as he speaks. It's dead, like he is. He'll leave their sight if need be, but he won't ever really leave, and they won't ever know because if Angel is good at one thing, it's at staying hidden in the shadows.

Head held high, a slight smirk on her face, she replies, "I'm not."

She gets the reaction she'd been hoping for, as his eyes snap towards her. She switches to softness suddenly, inhales and exhales deeply, "It's what she wanted."

Not very adept at hiding his feelings anymore, she sees his surprise, his curiosity.

"Do you think she goes-" she takes pause then, "_went_ to battle unprepared? After.. the second time, well.. she realized how important it was to set her affairs in order. And you know I'm not referring to her... expenses."

He nods slightly. Dawn, the others, him.

"She knew you'd want to stay." Willow's voice rests at that, allows the words to sink in.

When again she sees surprise, she continues, "Did you really think she wouldn't know your heart?"

"She's always known it better than anyone." He decides to reply.

Decides to let her know more. "I just wish I had allowed myself to know hers."

To that, there is nothing to say. She could have an internal debate with herself for years regarding that matter. On one hand, Angel had been right. Buffy deserved a happy normal life, with someone who could love her without restriction. But on the other hand, she was the slayer. Her death is proof enough of how impossible a normal life for her is. And as far as she can see, Buffy only allowed herself to love Angel without restriction.

But it will do no good to say any of this. So Willow says the only other thing that comes to mind, "The other's will come around, you'll see. Especially Dawn, she already wants to let you in. But she's stubborn, like her big sister."

The direct mention sullens his heart once more. But the spark of curiosity in him remains, and there is something he wants to ask.

"Did she-" he hesitates.

"Say anything else?"

He nods.

"No."

He sags visibly under her solitary word.

"But she wanted you to have this."

From her pocket, Willow pulls out a bent in half and slighty wrinked envelope.

There is fierceness in him suddenly, so she continues, "Now before you bite me, she told me to wait until the right time. And until today..."

She hands it over, "You weren't ready."

Without another word, she leaves the room and closes the door behind her.

His hands tremble as he gently opens the blue envelope. He pulls out a square lined sheet. As he unfolds, he inhales, and holds the unneeded air in his throat. It comes out slowly when he finally allows himself to read the words written on the paper.

_Angel, _

_If you're reading this, then I'm gone. I know you've already decided to blame yourself, but I ask you not to carry the undeserved weight of my death on your shoulders. I know you've never really allowed yourself to see it, but it's always been my destiny, my duty to die for the greater good. _

_It took me a while, but i'm no longer resentful of my calling, nor of my inevitable fate. And that has alot to do with you, despite what some people may have led you to believe._

_ You once said you loved me because of my heart, but I think you fail to see the greatness of your own. When you told me of all the things you've done, of what you've sacrificed for those you've loved; from Faith, to Darla and Connor, to me, you showed me the kind of person I wanted to be. _

_Angel, your heart knows no boundaries. That's why you've got to go on. You deserve so much more than you've allowed yourself to have. So live, love. _

_I know you're probably thinking about the curse, but what is perfect happiness anyways?_

_We've never really talked about that night, when you lost your soul. Despite your age, we were young and naive and in love. It made for a dangerous combination. Besides, you and I, we've always been something else, haven't we? Life is a series of moments, and that night was once in a lifetime. So don't be afraid._

_I know in my heart, that someday we'll be together. But until then, remember that I love you. _

_Your girl always,  
__Buffy_

He reads the letter over and over again until the words are a blur, trying to absorb her desires and erase his own. Because although he is trying, there is only a wish for death circulating within himself. But he loves her more than enough to keep his promise.

He's not quite ready yet, so he'll allow himself to wallow in the pain for a little longer. After all, he has nothing but time.

**Day 180**

He likes the weather. England's regular rain is a fellow friend, and it's distinctly different from L.A. and so it's welcome. Sometimes it's gloomy enough that he can stand outside in the daytime for a while without getting burnt.

He likes the people. For the most part, they're private, and he can get around without too much human interaction. And most importantly, there's distance between him and his past.

At first he refuses, but eventually Angel relents and moves in with Willow and Dawn, taking the basement for obvious reasons. It's difficult at first, but Willow had been right, barely a month of living in the same house, the youngest Summers has come around.

"I blamed you." Dawn blurts out suddenly.

Angel stays quiet, knows she has more to say.

"It was your fight, and I didn't want her to go. I just knew something would go wrong. I felt it in my heart. So, I begged her not to go, but nothing I said could persuade her. She left, and at first, I was angry with her. But then she-"

Dawn knows better than to say the word 'died' so she pauses instead, "and then I couldn't be angry with her, not anymore, so I blamed you."

"I'm still not convinced i'm not to blame." He says simply.

She turns to face him, looks him in the eye for the first time, "It's not your fault. She would have gone whether you were involved or not, because it _was _her fight. I just couldn't see it. None of us could. We've all been guilty of thinking that we knew what was best for her, but the truth is that she knew. I miss her everyday, and I won't deny that I still wish she were here, but I _am_ glad that you are."

He's not sure what to say to that, because he's still not sure he's 'glad' yet, to be alive anyways. He is grateful for her acceptance, her forgiveness. So he says, "Thank you Dawn."

She hesitates for a slight moment, then says quickly, "It's almost like having her around."

With that, Dawn turns and leaves, runs up the stairs to her room. Too much has already been said, and the weight of his silence is almost too much to bear.

Angel stands frozen, being around her is having the same effect on him. In fact, he's come to think of her as a little sister, has made it his mission to make sure she has the kind of life _she _would've wanted her to have.

Living is still an adjustment he's making, but being around them helps. More than he thought possible. Aside from them though, he keeps to himself. Xander and Giles have yet to come to terms with his presence, but he begrudges them nothing. He understands all too well their reservations. He gives them their space during visits, and holes up in his room, sometimes for days. He's not sure why their visits occasionally cause this reaction in him, perhaps it's his way of giving them what they want.

But he finds himself surviving most of the time, Dawn's strength, and Willow's warmth carrying him along.

**Day 365**

It's the first anniversary of the lack of her presence, and from the minute the clock turns 12:00, he wishes the day was over already. Every second is an hour, and he doesn't know if he can survive it. There is no logical reason why, he can only say it's because it makes the situation more real. She's really gone.

Willow has planned a get together, a small one anyways, in memory of her. Aside from Xander and Giles, Andrew, and Faith come. There are others, some he recognizes from L.A and others he doesn't know at all. As usual, he keeps to himself, but with the energy he exudes, it wouldn't be likely anyone would come near anyways. Until someone eventually does.

"Angel."

The fact that the voice calls him by name is startling enough. But Angel doesn't visibly react when Xander takes a seat beside him on the front porch.

From day one, Xander and him never liked each other. It started out as a mutually felt jealousy, but eventually so much more happened, the relationship seemed beyond repair. But with one word, that all can change. Because even as a vampire, Angel still can't recall the last time Xander had referred to him as anything other than dead-boy. So this moment is a big one.

"There's something I think it's time i've said."

Xander stands then, unable to sit still. He paces the lawn, occasionally locking eyes with a quiet, unmoving Angel.

"I hated you, for a REALLY long time."

"Well, you've got nothing to be worried about. I've known that for a long time." He replies.

"That's not what I meant. Look, I'm sorry."

Xander runs his hand through his hair.

"I've never allowed my opinion of you to change even after all the things you've done, lives you've saved. I had it in for you from the start because the girl of my dreams was out of my league and clearly in yours. Then you were a vampire, and I already hated them because my best friend turned into one. And just when I started letting my guard down, Angelus happened, and that sort of cemented everything after. But now, well it took me until now to realize how alike you and I really are. Well, at least metaphorically speaking."

Despite his circumstances, a small smile tugs at Angel's lips. "Is that right?"

"I love her."

He's surprised, Angel thought Xander had gotten over that love a long time ago.

Xander immediately senses Angel's misunderstanding.

"Not Buffy. Well yeah, I loved her but I wasn't IN love with her. I meant Anya. It's been just over 3 years, and I still- I still do. I always will."

He stands still then, facing Angel, "I never understood you and her, I was stubborn and I was naive about a lot of things. But I do know what I feel for Anya, and I see you, and well, let's just say I can relate."

There is silence, Angel once again not sure what to say. He starts to wonder if his pain is evident enough that it's managed to create peace with _Xander._

"I made alot of fuss about you coming here, but my issues had to do with more than just you. I wasn't ready to accept you, I wasn't ready for things to change. There was alot of roar because deep down I wasn't ready to face you. Her death made me realize finally, that when it came to you, I never should have interfered. I regret being a part of the reason you were both denied whatever happiness was meant to be yours. So, I'm sorry Angel."

Tears slide down Angel's face, he's living a day once thought more than impossible. And although in years to come, Xander sometimes ribs him about this, and calls him weepy-boy, tonight there is nothing but mutual respect and understanding. Angel sends up a silent thank you, knows that all that is happening between him and the Scoobies is because of her.

**Day 1825, 5th year in**

With Giles, it takes a lot longer for the man to finally come around to the idea that Angel's here to stay. Though of course, he understands. Although indirectly, Angel had of course been responsible for Jenny's death. He'd been directly involved with Buffy's, though he's come to terms with the idea that it isn't directly his_** fault**_. (That's taken Willow, Dawn and even Xander years to accomplish.)

Since his return, Giles simply pretends Angel doesn't exist. When forced otherwise, he's brisk and says very little. There is no hostility, nor words of anger, just a complete lack of acknowledgement.

But there's a moment when Giles takes a seat across from Angel, and he thinks that perhaps Giles has considered the idea of forgiveness, or at least the notion of acceptance.

"May I have a seat, Angel?" Giles' voice echoes slightly in the vast expanse of the school's library.

Angel sometimes goes there to read, to venture out of his self-imposed solitude; sometimes he goes to help, because after all, a leopard cannot change his spots. Today is one of such times. There are a few others there, Watchers and Slayers studying, working. All of them pretending they don't see what's happening, but all kind enough to avoid eavesdropping.

"Be my guest." Angel replies, hit immediately by the irony, since after all, he's the one who's the guest. The library has always been Giles' turf.

"First let me say that I do not hate you, not anymore."

In a move as familiar as the moon itself, Giles removes his glasses and begins to wipe them clean.

"But the truth is, you and I will never be old chums, it's not in the cards for us."

"I know." Angel agrees.

He doesn't look away, only waits, as Giles returns his glasses to his face, for the real issue to come out.

"However, that shouldn't imply that I desire your departure. I understand your reasons for being here. But I am an old dog, and I'm afraid i'm not quite capable of new tricks. But I do respect you and I will not hold the past against you any longer."

Angel knows how difficult this must be for Giles, hardly feels worthy of even this small concession that he's given.

"It's more than I deserve, so thank you." He replies.

Giles, always a reserved man, wants to leave it at that. But there is one other pressing issue on his mind. Before he gets the chance to bring it up though, Angel says, "It's alright, Giles. Just say whatever is on your mind."

He nods slightly, "The way you've been these last 5 years, it's no way to honour her final wish, Angel."

"I'm afraid i'm not capable of more." He replies.

Angel isn't sure whether to tell him the truth or not, but he realizes that Giles is in the distinct position to handle what he's about to say.

"I died the day she did. It can hardly get any worse."

Having lost Jenny, he knows that feeling all too well. But he feels compelled to get his point across.

"I once asked her why she was willing to risk it all for you, her life, her family, even when she knew that there was never going to be a happy ending for you two. And i'll never forget what she said to me."

Giles' eyes glass over as he recollects that moment with her.

"After everything that i've witnessed in my life, there are three things I know with certainty. One: Everything happens for a reason. Two: Love is stronger than even death. And thirdly, death isn't the end. It's just the beginning of a different story. "

As expected, Angel says nothing.

So he continues, "Those were Buffy's last words to me."

This small sentence gets the effect he's hoping for, alertiveness.

"I don't know if she knew she would die but she always was smarter and more intuitive than any of us, myself included, gave her credit for."

"Why are you telling me this?" Angel asks desperately.

"Because even though I never thought you were right for her, she did. She always believed in the love you two shared. I finally trust her judgment, it's time you did too."

With that, Giles slides his seat out, gives Angel one last look, then leaves.

For once, Angel feels more than despair, hopes for more than death. For once, Angel has faith.

* * *

a/n part 2: Sorry for the crappiness of this chapter. Aside from being all caught up in World Cup games right now, beginnings are always hard. And I've kept you waiting already, so I wanted to get the chapter out for you all as soon as I could. But I have every intention to improve the chapters to come. Also, I proof-read as best I could, but if there are any errors, I do apologize. I only have one set of eyes. lol

On another note, it's quite aggravating that sometimes the site doesn't save changes I make to documents (such as spacing, font specifications). Does anyone know why that is?

Chapter 2 to be posted as soon as possible. And if you want to honour me with more reviews, please be my guest!

Thanks again.


	4. Chapter II: Elegy For Himself

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Warning: The story is true to the Buffy/Angel theme, but if you remember Chapter 1's poem, Time is crucial. So I guess, it's slightly A/R. But i'm a romantic at heart, so don't expect crazy fantasy.. this is strictly a Buffy/Angel Series Fluffy Drama. I'm still new at this, so i'm not sure i'd be good enough for that.

Also... I've yet to master Angel's 'voice', so any chapter centering on him won't usually turn out as well. I go through a lot of writer's block too, so sometimes they'll take a little longer to get out.

Ok, that said.. What you need to know: Well just that (the warning) and the previous chappies! Ok, because i've been horrible and taken too long to post this, here you go!

Spoilers: From now on, EVERYTHING.

Anyway, here you go!

* * *

_**Elegy For Himself**_

_My prime of youth is but a frost of cares;  
__My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;  
__My crop of corn is but a field of weeds;  
__And all my good is but vain hope of gain:  
__The day is past, and yet I saw no sun;  
__And now I live, and now my life is done._

_My tale was heard, and yet it was not told;  
__My fruit is fall'n, and yet my leaves are green;  
__My youth is spent, and yet I am not old;  
__I saw the world, and yet I was not seen:  
__My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun;  
__And now I live, and now my life is done._

_I sought my death, and found it in my womb;  
__I looked for life, and saw it was a shade;  
__I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb;  
__And now I die, and now I was but made;  
__My glass is full, and now my glass is run;  
__And now I live, and now my life is done._

_~Chidiock Tichborne_

**Year 25**

Alot can happen in the span of a lifetime. Not his own. No, the course of his existence hasn't changed much. He still helps the helpless. The only difference is, he's now forgotten about redemption, and his physical involvement is quite minimal. That is of course, due to the predominance of hundreds of slayers _choosing_ to fight. His part takes place in the library with Giles. Even though they're far from friendship, they work well together. They have more in common with each other than either of them will ever admit, and together they're the ultimate source of knowledge. For 20 years, they've guided their heroines safely to battle the few enemies still left. So, it's not without anguish the day a partnering becomes one.

It happened quickly, one minute Giles was there, and the next, he was gone. It wasn't in a blaze of glory as the Ripper might have liked, but it was an honorable end regardless. But Angel doesn't like thinking of his death, only of the few moments of life he managed to share with a man whom he greatly admired, despite not entirely agreeing with his methods.

The funeral is at sunset, and Angel is greatly moved by the gesture when he finds out it was per Giles' request. The sun has yet to set, but he's so close he can almost hear the preacher begin.

When the sun is finally submerged under the horizon, he escapes the shade of his hiding spot. He finds Rupert's family and friends with ease; there are dozens of people there, yet it doesn't surprise him. Giles was so much more than a watcher, he undoubtedly mixed with many others throughout his life.

Angel hangs back from the crowd. He calls only 3 family among all the people there, and he feels as if he's intruding by where he stands already.

The ceremony is respectable and becoming to a man like Giles. Dawn says a few words in his honour, Rupert being after all, the only father she ever really had.

Her emotions overflowing, she takes a moment's pause to collect herself. Although Dawn looks about 1o years older than him, he still sees her as that teenage girl who once admitted considering him an older brother. In these moments, he wishes he could console her. She sees Angel then, gains strength from his presence and continues.

Willow speaks as well, and a few others he knows by name only. When the service is over, people disperse, some gather in groups consoling one another, others head back to their vehicles. From the distance, he sees the three still honouring the great librarian. From his lone spot, he can see their profiles; Xander's arm wrapped around Dawn, her head leaning slightly into the crook of his neck, silent tears falling from her eyes. Willow stands beside her, both hands holding Dawn's right hand. Seeing just the three of them at once is rare, what with their lives and children and Angel's continued desire to live in the background.

He decides to join them finally. He reaches Willow first and she smiles softly at him. She reaches out and takes hold of his hand, gives it a gentle squeeze then lets go. They're all familiar with the real Angel, and the truth is, there's been so much hurt in his life that the brood is no longer just a mask. He wears it more often than not, but after all the years, they know him so well they see right through it.

There are moments of course, when it all fades into his subconscious, and the vampire with a soul is able to crack a smile, or live in the here and now. Right now, they see in him the sadness they also feel.

Dawn moves first, stepping away from Xander and Willow, and places her arms around Angel.

"I miss him." She says amidst her tears.

"I do too." He replies quietly.

She lets him go then, looks him in the eye.

"I'm glad you're here." she says, then turns back to the other Scoobies, "I'm glad we're all still together, even after all these years."

"We're family, Dawnie." Willow replies simply, and links arms with her.

"Just not your traditional version." Xander quips in.

They all let small smiles slip despite their circumstances. Dawn wipes her eyes dry.

Willow turns to Angel, "Are you coming to the little get together at the school?" She asks.

He doesn't answer at first. He wants to but he's not sure he's ready to go back yet. Plus, being around all those slayers, whose energy and presence are reminiscent of _her_, is still difficult for him.

"I don't know." he answers truthfully.

"It's alright Angel if you wanna skip it. It's going to be a chick fest, lots of tissue and such. I miss Giles as much as they do, but I'm sure even he wouldn't wanna put me nor you, nor any man through that. You and I will go where the men go."

Xander adds then, and when Willow turns to look at him they share a knowing look only Angel fails to see.

But he knows.

"Well then, I guess I'll drive Willow and I to the school and I can pick Xander up later at your place when I drive her home, and you guys are done your manly thing." Dawn says as she lets Willow go and walks up to Xander.

She smooths the lapels of his jacket and plants a soft kiss on his lips.

"Don't get too carried away, ok?" She says to him only slightly serious.

In past years, Angel shared a home with Willow and Dawn. But as the youngster grew into a woman, the relationship between her and Xander changed. It was not the type of romance that happened all of a sudden, instead it took years to form.

Dawn and him had always held a special connection; were united by a bond they alone shared. Their friendship started out innocently, an opportunity for Xander to feel like his old self again.

During the hard days, she was his source of comfort, someone who'd smile genuinely whenever he talked about Anya. And then it happened, there was a rare screening of one of the Star Wars films one night, and only she was willing to accompany him. The air around them changed as he walked her home after, and halfway there, they shared their first kiss.

A year a half later, they were married. It's still true that Xander will always love Anya, but what he feels for Dawn isn't a betrayal to that love. He feels alive again, and he knows Anya would want him to be happy.

So now, it's only Willow, and himself. Regardless of possible opportunities and romances, Will never married. She's taken lovers but no relationship has ever blossomed past that. Perhaps it's the fact that like Angel, she's already experienced great love (and twice at that), and doesn't expect to find it again.

"I'll try to behave." Xander's voice carries a little of his old teenage hilarity, and it's comforting in its own way.

Quickly, he switches to perfect husband mode and asks, "Are you gonna be ok?"

A small smile plays on her lips, "Ya, I think I am. He's in a better place."

_With Buffy_, they all think in unison, but it goes unspoken.

Later on that night...

They sit at their familiar booth, reminiscing and toasting the one and only Rupert Giles. Xander is careful about what memories to bring up, sure not to mention Buffy's name. With the pain he knows Angel is already feeling, he knows it isn't wise to add it to the mix.

Surprisingly however, it is Angel who mentions her first.

"After losing my son, Cordelia, Fred and the others, and after experiencing Buffy's death not once, not twice but 3 times, I just never expected anything to hurt again. I thought I'd be numb after all these years. But now..." His voice trails off and his face darkens.

"Now it's started all over again." Xander finishes for him.

"You know it's only going to get harder, right?"

He's been thinking about this ever since they laid Giles in the earth.

"I'd be pretty naive if by this point, I didn't." Angel replies, then gulps down the last bit of his drink.

"Have you ever considered leaving? Breaking free from it all?"

There is no point in pretending he doesn't understand what Xander means by that.

"No." he responds, his voice just as raw.

After a moment's pause, he adds, "You're all my family now. No matter how much pain the future might bring, I won't abandon you guys. I made a promise, and I intend on keeping it."

Having passed his limit by one, his censor gone, Xander also asks, "Even if it destroys whatever humanity you have left?"

"I'm sort of counting on it."

He speaks nonchalantly, as if he speaks of common trivialities, such as the weather. He turns to the solitary waitress in this small pub, and orders another round.

"That's no way to live." Xander replies dejectedly, causing Angel's head to whip back around.

"I'm done living." His voice closes for second, "... I know it's what she wanted from me. But it was stupid of her to think I could be happy after... after everything, I finally see the truth."

There is more emotion in Angel's voice than Xander has heard in years. Afraid of the answer, Xander asks, "And that is?"

"It's pretty obvious don't you think? Redemption, the fairy tale ending, such things weren't meant for a monster like me."

There is conviction in his words, absolute belief in their truth. And it's this that sets Xander off.

"For someone your age, you really can be a child sometimes. Why is it always with the black and white with you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Xander continues, "Firstly: You don't just _get _the happy ending, Angel. It isn't something that's just rationed by how good you are. You work towards it everyday, even though you always end up treading through alot of shit to get it. And nine times out of ten, the happy only lasts briefly. But if you're lucky enough to experience it, every second is worth all that shit."

The waitress arrives then with their drinks, and after throwing the two a curious look, sets the two drinks on the table, smiles courteously and leaves.

Xander takes a sip, then flashes two fingers at Angel.

"Secondly: Your story clearly isn't over yet. If it was, you'd be a pile of ash right now. But as I see you standing in front of me, I see that's not the case. You know better than anyone that things aren't always what they seem. If you really do love her, then you have to trust what she believed, you have to trust her."

"And if I don't?" Protest still hiding in Angel's voice.

"Then you really will be stuck this way forever."

**Year 60**

"I love you Angel, but you have to leave before she dies. Before I die."

She places her withered hand on his soft skin, and smiles at this unchanged man she considers a brother. She's not remotely phased by his youth, she had her time, she had a good life, she only wishes he had as well.

"I won't leave her, and I won't leave you. I made a promise to myself, that I would stick around for you, Willow, Giles, hell even Xander."

The last two names are difficult for him to utter since both men are gone.

"I understand that, but I can't watch you die with us, Angel. And I see it already. When Giles died, we didn't see you for months. Then Xander-"

Dawn's voice cracks on his name, that pain is still too fresh.

"You nearly went catatonic. And Willow, she's your best friend. She was..."

Dawn hesitates on saying her sister's name. He never takes it very well. "..._her_ best friend. And me, well-"

"You're her sister, her blood. I know what you're getting at."

"I just don't think you can handle it."

He stands then, moving away from her. Glancing out at the night sky, he turns his back on her.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Dawn knows she has to pull out the big guns, she wished so desperately she wouldn't need.

"I'm not asking you to leave for me, or for Willow. Do you really think this is how Buffy wants you to live? What she meant when she asked you to carry on?"

His head snaps back to her, all fight gone the minute he looks into Dawn's knowing eyes. He walks back to where she sits, and kneels in front of her.

"Why are you asking this of me?"

"Because it's time Angel, for you to make a new start. For you to start living again."

He rests his head on her quilt guarded lap, and gently she places a hand over his head.

"Impossible." He says softly.

A knowing smile spreads on her face, a smile that says much, and may have changed something in him had he seen it.

"Someday, it'll happen."

He says nothing to her words, knows she's trying to provide comfort, so arguing would be fruitless. He lifts his head, looks into her still youthful eyes, approaches the other topic at hand.

"I understand where you're coming from Dawn, but understand mine. You're my family, and all I have left of her, and I will not abandon you."

She had expected his rebuke, but had not expected to be dissuaded by his words.

"For all my years, and I have some, I can still be so naive. I was only trying to think of you, but who am I to know what's best for you?"

Her words resonate within himself, bring him back about 70 years, to a night in a sewer.

"I wish I'd have come to my own senses as quickly as you just did."

She clues in fairly quickly to his reference, mentally berates herself.

"I didn't mean.." she starts to say.

"It's ok Dawn. I know you didn't."

Needing a subject change, she addresses her greatest concern, feels it needs a voice. "Who's going to take care of you?"

The question sounds strange considering he's more than 200 years OLDER than her.

"I worry about what'll happen after I go. Aside from us four, you haven't let anyone else in. Not even my own children."

That's just how it had always been. Her, Willow, and eventually Xander made sure he didn't crumble under the weight of his loss, and his ever present guilt. Tried to make him live in the world even if it was just a world filled with four people.

After Buffy's second death, she hadn't thought it would get as bad as it has. But after 60 years, she has some insight to the man behind the brood. He has a great capacity to love, and he does, fully. He has complete dedication to those whom he loves, holds their well-being above his own. Once upon a time, he also had the strong conviction to do what was right, but that's been gone for decades now.

He holds her slightly less cold hands in his own.

"Don't worry about me, Dawnie. I'll be ok." He says trying to reassure her, though the words are not exactly the truth he feels inside.

Her eyes crinkle like foil paper as she smiles, "If you really let yourself believe it, you will be."

**Year 70**

"It's time to move on, Angel."

Willow's voice calls out from behind him, her voice wrinkled with age. He continues to stare at the tombstone in front of him as he hears her approach. She places her withered hand around his forearm, more strength behind the grasp than expected.

"I just got here." He disagrees.

"I didn't mean here specifically, I meant here generally."

This response causes him to turn towards her.

"I won't..." He starts.

"Abandon me, yeah yeah. I know what you told Xander and Dawn, and they might have bought it. But you know, that I know better."

She taps her head knowingly. "I'm coming with you so there's nothing to argue about."

He's startled by her words, she'd know it even if she couldn't see it on his face.

"And the school.. the slayers?" He asks.

"They don't need us anymore. I'm an old lady now, even though I look great for my age, and you're just as frail as I am. What you and I need, is a break."

It's more true for him than for her, and they both know it. When in actual years she is 96, Willow doesn't look a day over 60. They can't explain it exactly, all that can be said is that after 70 years of hosting powerful magic, it's had an effect on her body and her aging process. Physically, she's healthier than many two thirds her age.

He's momentarily tempted to argue, but doesn't. Dawn's recent death has been the hardest on him since Buffy's. And a respite might actually do him some good. The happier moments he's had here no longer outweigh the tragedy 3 deaths brought with them.

"Where did you have in mind?" He asks, resignation in the sound of his voice.

A few months later...

"It looks exactly the same."

The words come out in a rush, and even though he expects this place to bring him pain, it doesn't. Almost everyone he's ever loved has lived within its walls at some point, and any doubts he held towards Willow's choice are gone within the second. The years spent away from here have warmed its memory in his mind.

He steps into the main lobby.

"That's because I'm good." She answers, following him inside. "The outside needs some work, however."

She then walks through the lobby and up the stairs towards the courtyard. His eyes follow her direction.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to see green."

She rolls her sleeves up as an indication to her intentions, and walks out the glass doors.

However, he doesn't notice. His mind wanders the moment he catches glimpse of that entryway.

...

_You know, you choosing this place doesn't surprise me. At all." _

_She nudges his side with her elbow teasingly, as she speaks. Even in the darkness of night, sun kisses her skin. She passes the gate first, and together they walk towards the entrance doors. _

_She's feeling particularly playful this evening, having finally lost the last bit of tension she still carried from the fight with the Senior Partners. Which had happened nearly 6 months ago. _

_He smiles out of the corner of his mouth, and asks, "Why is that?"_

_"Where else were you going to fit your ego?" _

_She stops to face him just inside the threshold, tries to remain dead serious, but is unable to as she sees his face of disbelief, and bursts into laughter instead. _

_Stoic as ever, he responds, "Is this your way of thanking me for dinner? Cuz I'm not sure I like your style."_

_"Alright, alright, i'm done." _

_She forces herself to stop, a few remaining giggles getting through anyway. _

_"Always so serious." __She elbows him again, and flashes a quick smile at him before turning to walk down the few steps._

_But before her feet move, his hand hooks onto her arm and he pulls her towards him. She's flush against him, and the coolness of his skin magnifies the heat of her own. All teasing is gone, as they stare into each others eyes. This place they're in, is all too familiar. Torn between their desires, and the reality of their situation. _

_She opens her mouth to speak, to end the happiness bound to arrive if they let it get any further. But he silences her with his lips. Her heart pounds the time away, as she sinks into the taste of him in her mouth. As all good things come to an end, he cups her cheek with his hand and pulls away._

_"I'm sorry..." he starts, but she kisses him once more._

_"I know." She says after the kiss, before he tries to continue. "I miss you too. I wish..."_

_"Shhhh." He places his fingers over her mouth momentarily. "Don't say it."_

_She trembles slightly, trying to contain her emotions as she nods in response. _

_"Can we just pretend a little longer?" She pleads. _

_His fingers skim the side of her face, and his smile is heartbreaking. _

_"I love you, Buffy." _

_It's the first time he's said it in years, and she can't help the tear that slides down her cheek. _

_"Always." Is her only reply. _

_He kisses her._

* * *

A/N: You're all probably thrown by the time that's passed. There are 3 main reasons for it:

1. I wanted to experiment with the type of relationship that might have formed between the Scoobies and Angel in a post Buffy situation.  
2. I wanted to give Buffy and Angel a completely new start and setting. Hence the title, 'After the End'.  
3. I wanted to break free from the end of both shows, and try something entirely new for me. (I've done the post series B/A get together many times, as you may have read)

Besides, I felt that if I brought her back right away, things couldn't really change for them. Buffy would still be THE slayer, and his past would always hang over him. And I wanted to give them more than that.

Now I realize some of you may think I'm making it a little hard for Angel by putting him through all this, but my goal is to set him free too. What I understand about his character is pretty much what Buffy says in her letter. This story is about him letting go of all that pressure, and focusing on his own happiness. And as Angel is quite stubborn in that regard, I needed the time to break him from all his self imposed "anchors". e.i. The scoobies, his guilt, Buffy's death.

I hope you're not all too upset by this news!

Oh, and pretty much everything in italics, will be a flashback of some sort. IE. A memory, daydream, regular old dream.

Now, regarding Willow: As you know, in the series, she's quite powerful. Her role in this story deals alot with that idea (hence the slower aging process) and she's a key figure in Buffy and Angel's reunion. The rest of the scoobies play smaller roles in this fic, so don't expect anymore direct involvement from them. I love them all (except for maybe Dawn) but they've done their part by accepting Angel, and helping him as always, Muchos Thank Yous for reading and reviewing!

Spoiler: The Girl in Question makes her debut!


	5. Chapter III: Love and Life, A Song

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon... and anything you recognize as dialogue belongs to him too.

What you need to know: The poems are pretty important to the story. They set the tone and direction of each chapter, so I hope you're reading them. I know there has been alot of secrets, but it's part of the conflict, so I can't divulge them all. Otherwise the story would lose all it's got going for it. haha.

Anyways, thanks for reading!

* * *

**_Love and life, A song_**

_All my past life is mine no more;_  
_The flying hours are gone;_  
_Like transitory dreams given over_  
_Whose images are kept in store_  
_By memory alone._

_Whatever is to come, is not;_  
_How can it then be mine?_  
_The present moment's all my lot,_  
_And that, as fast as it is got,_  
_Phyllis, is wholly thine._

_Then talk not of inconstancy,_  
_False hearts, and broken vows;_  
_If I, by miracle, can be_  
_This live-long minute true to thee,_  
_Tis all that heaven allows._

_~John Wilmot_

**_OoO_**

_The sand is gritty and soft under her feet, while the setting sun is warm against her skin. The air is salty and fresh and the shore seems to go on without end. She knows there is chaos somewhere out there, but in this place, she's free. At least for the moment._

_She takes a few steps down the shoreline, but she's waiting for something, knows it as sure as she feels the sun on her face. She stops. Arms wrap around her waist then, it's him, and she knows it's impossible, but she takes it anyway. Holds him as he holds her. _

_"How did you find me here?" _

_"If I was blind, I would see you." He answers, h__is voice a silent caress on her skin. _

_She reaches up, the need to feel his skin beneath her fingertips overpowering everything else._

_"Stay with me." She begs softly, because she knows he cannot. _

_"Forever." He begins, for her it's enough, and she holds him tighter. _

_He continues, however, "That's the whole point. I'll never leave." _

_He stops then, igniting the truth she hid away._

_"Not even if you kill me."_

**_OoO_**

The dream dancing in her dormant mind dissapears from memory the moment her eyes open. The room she lies in is shiny and stark, and the overwhelming scent of alcohol assaults her nose. The monochromatic scheme screams hospital so she remains unstartled, that is until she wonder's why she's there, and no answer comes to mind. Panic starts to settle in as the questions she asks herself, such as her name and age, remain unknown.

Luckily, at that moment, a man in a white coat and a woman in a matching navy blue top and bottom, presumably her doctor and her nurse, walk into the room. With his attention on the chart in front of him and the nurse's attention on her, he asks her a series of questions similar to the ones she had just asked herself. And like that previous session, she's unable to answer the bulk of them.

Putting the chart down, he looks at her head on. The nurse finishes her check up, nods at the doctor, and leaves the room.

He remains calm and detached as he speaks. "You were brought here because you were in a car accident." He pauses briefly, allowing the idea to sink in. "You were hit by a car, and you'd lost a lot of blood. The paramedics had to revive you in the ambulance, and for the first week your status was critical. The head trauma you recieved sent you into a coma."

"How long?" She asks suddenly, clearly startled by this revelation.

"3 months." Again he pauses, as if the few seconds he allows her are enough to deal with all this startling information. "You suffered some head trauma, and it's the cause of your memory loss. It's called post-traumatic amnesia, and it's only temporary. With time, they are likely to come back. Physically... You were lucky. No major breaks, nor permanent damage. A few cuts that required stitching were your greatest injuries."

His face clearly depicts startleness, as if he cannot understand it yet. "It's unexplainable." He says after a moment, a spark of liveliness in his voice and mannerisms, a returned humanity lost behind the straight facts of his charts and exams.

"All I can say is you were lucky."

She forces a smile onto her face for his sake, because she doesn't feel lucky. Not only is she alone in a frightening place, but something vitally important is missing. She knows this fact despite not knowing her own name. She only wishes she knew what it was.

It takes another month until she's well enough to leave. Panic starts to swallow her slowly as each day goes by and no one comes to reclaim her. She worries about where she'll go, what she'll do. The vault of her memories is still barren, and the world around her feels foreign and unknown. The doctors can't explain why there's nothing still, despite all the fancy gadgets they use to try and find out. They call it an abnormality which does nothing to help her fit in.

Eventually, the tests become too invasive, and the prying eyes of all the doctors start to weigh on her. So one night, this night, she leaves. There's momentary guilt within her when she steals a sleeping patients' check-out clothing, and a visitors unattended wallet. She thinks of her doctor's comment on luck, and agrees with him in this moment. She wonders why she feels no fear, but doesn't dwell long on it. It's all she's got going for her, and it's proving effective.

A patient, not a prisoner, she leaves without anyone noticing much. The night air is crisp, but tolerable, and without much else, she follows her instinct out and away from the recycled hospital air.

Her first mission: A cheap hotel.

**_OoO_**

The building catches her eye at first because of its size, and the likelyhood of its purpose. Then, its obvious antiquity intrigues her because it still stands despite its lack of care. But what really enraptures her is the feeling it creates within her. For the first time since she opened her eyes, something physical is actually familiar to her. Deep down, she knows this broken down building, and it fills her with her first sensation of relief.

Unafraid and unable to do anything else she walks up to its entrance. Behind a rust encrusted gate there is a partially dried out garden filled with weeds. Beyond that, a set of once upon a time glass doors, now boarded up. Without a need for protection the gate is unlocked. With a little effort she slides it open enough to squeeze through.

Her determination is unexplainable. Surely it is a refuge not only to the homeless but to drug addicts and dangerous characters alike. But as before, she feels no stress nor worry about these possibilities. She walks past the garden and what was once upon a time, a beautiful fountain. She heads straight inside, easily passing the non-glass doors.

Surprise finds her because the inside does not reflect the shell. The entire area, what she'd call the lobby, is clean and bare; not a cobweb in sight. To her right, there's a marble counter and behind it a set of bookcases, shelf after shelf littered with books. Impossible to ignore the call of curiosity the stacks of books have created, she walks over to them. As she reaches them, her head tilts to better read each title, and her fingers softly skim the stack of spines in a row. To her surprise, most of them are bound in leather, smooth yet worn in by age. Their inescapable fragility keep her prying eyes, and more importantly: fingers, away.

She inspects instead the more approachable volumes; paperbacks and hardcovers of younger stories. They sit together on a shelf to themselves, seemingly separated from the better and more expensive writings. However, upon further inspection, she comes to realize that even though the frames are newer, the stories are not. She doesn't exactly understand how her amnesia works, and neither had any of the doctors. They gave it temporary names that changed when the remedies didn't work. What they all did find out was that even though she couldn't remember her life, she retained common knowledge... somehow. And apparently, that included book titles.

She recognizes Shakespeare, and Emily Dickenson; Pride and Prejudice, and Lord of the Flies, among others. Their stories however, are less vivid, and in some cases non-existant, in her mind. And then there's one, the last one in a row, whose name lacks memory sparks, that makes her feel as if she's seen it before. It's more tattered than the rest; the jacket torn in places and faded, with its lapels curling. Her hand finds it with ease, and she pulls it free from its place.

She inspects its cover; black, and styled to mimic older books, like the ones on the other shelves. She flips to the first page instinctively, and reads the first phrase. The sequence of words cause her heart to skip, and despite it all, the tresspassing, the blankness, the solitude; Her body moves almost of it's own accord, and she walks over to the hyper worn out chairs just on the other side of the marble bar. Care has flown out the window, and she doesn't seem to notice. All the familiarity of this place causes her to feel safe for the first time since waking. She's been here before, every bone in her body is telling her so. Taking a seat, she curls up and reads the written words. Eventually, as sometimes happens when reading late at night, she falls asleep.

And like every night before, she dreams.

**_OoO_**

_"Is there a big bad in town I don't know about?" He asks as he descends the velvet stairs. Slowly turning her eyes from the book in front of her to him, she sees his expression of worried curiosity, even from her spot on the red chair across the room. _

_As his words register, bewilderment fills her features. "No.. why do you ask?" _

_"You're reseaching." He points to the book as he speaks. By this point he's level with her, and when he's a few feet away from her, his eyes squint in order to read it's title. _

_"Actually, I'm not." She holds the book up for him then, to reaffire her words. "I'm just reading a book, the regular kind. The fictional kind." _

_"You're reading a novel? By choice?" He asks, apparently also puzzled by this notion. He's standing in front of her now, and catches her apprehension to his words._

_"Har har." She replies, her voice dripping with non-malicious sarcasm. "It may be surprising to you, but yes. I read. And before you ask, no. This is not my first time." Her head turns back to the item at hand, clearly ready to end the conversation._

_Her eyes shift slightly in his direction as he takes a seat beside her silently. He doesn't speak, and out of the corner of her eye, she can tell his attention is intent on her. She attempts to ignore him and read instead. A few seconds pass in this manner, but when she can take it no longer, her head whips in his direction. _

_"What?" she asks, her voice as mousy as he's ever heard it. _

_"You've read it before." He states then._

_"How do you know that?" She blurts rapidly, but realizing suddenly what she's just said, she amends, "I mean, what makes you say that?"_

_He then sees the slight stain on her cheeks, and smiles. "It's highlighted."_

_She snaps the book shut, her blush magnifies, and his smile intensifies in response. "It could have come that way." She tries to argue. _

_"Perhaps." He reaches out and slides the back of his fingers down her cheek. "But your face says otherwise." His smile, witty at first, turns serious as his skin makes contact. Her own mirrors his, and all playfulness is gone in the span of a second. _

_Knowing where this could lead, he removes his hand, and slides his hands down his thighs then intertwines them. With his elbows resting on his knees, he inspects the lobby ahead of him. Anywhere but the truth of her gaze. As his body moves, hers does too. Her fingers find the bookmark, and slide the book open. _

_She continues to look at him, though he doesn't face her. "It's my favourite novel." She says, glancing down at it momentarily. She expects some sort of response, but gets nothing. _

_"It reminds me of us." She admits after a sliver of silence. It's more information that she wants to share, but if he doesn't look at her again like he just had, she thinks she might die._

_Karma blesses her, and he shifts back to his previous position and turns his head. "Then how can you like it?" He asks solemnly. _

_"The characters don't get their traditional happy ending, that's true." Her voice nonchalantly bittersweet. She reaches out, and grasps the hand that lays on the sofa's armrest. Smiles at him tenderly. _

_"But it doesn't matter. The point is, there is no end." _

* * *

A/N: Sooo to begin: I'm SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry this took sooo long! My computer pretty much crashed on me, and without funds and computer access I was pretty much isolated from the online world. I am FINALLY back, and you guys out there STILL awesome enough to wait out for me: THANK YOU!

Ok, to the nitty gritty. So, yeah. The beginning dream is from the Anne episode. It'll happen again with others too. The girl is Buffy, as if it weren't obvious enough. And yup, she's at the Hyperion. hahaha. I bet you're all thinking "It can't be that easy?" but trust me, IT'S NOT. There's more going on than meets the eye. I'm loving the lack of details this story has so far! It's the angle i'm attempting to keep the story fresh. But all will be revealed when the time is right. *taps fingers* (hahaha, ya i'm a complete dork.)

I apologize if the doctor scene isn't really realistic, I did the best I could with the limited knowledge I have about doctor speak. Maybe I need to watch a little more House. lol. Alright, that's enough for me. I'll be posting again soon, I promise. And per usual, any reviews and/or helpful tips are ALWAYS appreciated!

SPOILER: The next chapter is all Willow! A great deal of information will come out through her segment, so stay tuned!

Thanks again everyone!


	6. Chapter IV: Brahma

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Warning: In this chapter, the italics at the end are not a flashback.

What you need to know: There's a little crossover, timewise.

Anyways.. here you go! A little Willow perspective...

* * *

_**Brahma**_

_If the red slayer thinks he slays,  
__Or if the slain think he is slain,  
__They know not well the subtle ways  
__I keep, and pass, and turn again._

_Far or forgot to me is near;  
__Shadow and sunlight are the same;  
__The vanished gods to me appear;  
__And one to me are shame and fame._

_They reckon ill who leave me out;  
__When me they fly, I am the wings;  
__I am the doubter and the doubt,  
__And I the hymn the Brahmin sings._

_The strong Gods pine for my abode,  
__And pine in vain the sacred Seven;  
__But thou, meek lover of the good!  
__Find me, and turn thy back on heaven._

_~Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Willow's life as a wicca began when she was only 17. Forced into the world of the supernatural, its flare and effectiveness quickly intrigued her. A level headed girl her whole life, she never expected it to throw her world upside down as it had. It was at first, a dangerous addiction that ended up consuming a part of her soul. By the age of 21, she was one of the most dangerous enemies Sunnydale ever saw. Yet one short year later, she grew up and changed the definition of a slayer's life. It took years of discipline, and restraint to keep it from taking over. Today, she understands the importance of balance, of maintaining the order of things. After 70 years of practicing, of being a powerful witch, there's little she can't do.

And so, it's during a routine astral projection, a precautionary safeguard against any major perils, that she experiences a moment of doubt. It happens in the literal blink of an eye, one moment she's in a familiar plane, and the next she's engulfed in warm white light. She wonders briefly why it doesn't blind her until suddenly the thought is forgotten. As quickly as the world around her had changed, so had the appearance of the young man now approaching her.

"Did I just die?" She asks the boyish figure.

"No. You're only projecting. Remember?"

She wants to address the look he gives her, but the situation at hand is far more pressing.

"Then where am I? and why are you here?"

His responding smile is breathtaking, "Wow, had to come out with the big guns, eh Will? Well, i'm not really sure how it works, but you're not dead. And I still am."

His reply is simply perfect, and her being is momentarily fused with joy.

"It really is you, isn't it?" She asks softly.

"I'm not sure whether to be offended by that question or not."

He doesn't answer directly, but it's enough of a response for her. She'd wanted to doubt him from the minute she caught sight of his patchless eyes, but couldn't. She'd known Xander her whole life, no duplicate or copy would ever fool her. She felt it from the get go, this really was him.

When it becomes apparent to him that she's unable to speak, he continues, "You know what, I'm gonna let it slide.. this time. But only because time really is of the essence here."

He waits a second until he's sure she's on board, and resumes, "What you should have asked is, _why_ we're here, and that's one I _can_ answer."

"Let me guess. The world is ending, and you need my help." She can't help the sarcasm in her words. "The ones upstairs don't interfere for anything else."

He smiles knowingly, "Well, you're only partially wrong. The world isn't ending, so you can relax."

Her judgements are shoved aside as curiosity takes over, "You need my help?"

"Me personally? No."

Her shoulders slump with confusion as he speaks.

"I'm only here because they really can't be. They have this thing about direct interference. I'm just a regular dead guy who happens to be best friends with 'The Witch called Willow'." His fingers emulate quotation marks as he says the last part.

"They who?" She asks first, it's the most needed among the tons of others questions that spring up from Xander's words.

"Well they have lots of cool names, but what Angel used to call them was..."

She interrupts him as her heart skips a beat, only it really doesn't, because she's not really here.

"The Powers That Be."

"Bingo. They need your..."He pauses, looking for the closest word available, "...assistance. So the gist is this: They're sending her back."

There is only one person it could be, but not wanting to get her hopes high in vain she asks, "Buffy?"

"C'mon Willow. Who else?"

After 96 years of living, a fool she is not. Willow needs to know more.

"What for?" She asks suspiciously.

Because truthfully, the notion still isn't making sense to her. She'd love Buffy to be alive again as much as anyone, but she won't do it if it means sacrifice on Buffy's part.

"Have you forgotten about a certain soulful vampire?"

A woman's bemused voice speaks out from behind her even though Willow hasn't heard this voice since her twenties, she'd also recognize it anywhere. Her body snaps around.

"Cordelia." She says anyways.

The woman smiles. "Yes, you're still you and I'm still me, can we move on now?"

She's as much Cordelia as she's ever been, Willow thinks.

"Please do." she answers slowly, a sly look on her face.

She turns to look for Xander but finds him beside her. He smiles down at her, and she finds herself wishing she could hold his hand. But they are all only projections, there is no physicality here even though she sees their faces clearly. So she faces Cordelia again and waits.

"I was getting to it, Cordy." Xander says to her, mildy irritated by her sudden appearance.

"At your rate, we were going to be here all day. And we don't have that kind of time, remember?"

He says nothing, just rolls his eyes.

"Good." The word is for her own satisfaction.

"As I was saying: Angel. Did you forget him?" Annoyed disbelief plays on Cordelia's face.

"Of course not. But I do have a hard time believing the PTB are sending her back just for his sake. What's the catch Cordelia?" Willow asks sternly.

"That's my Willow," Xander speaks up then.

"Can't get one by this one." He says to Cordelia, motioning to Willow with his head.

"Well, technically you are right." Cordelia answers after rolling her eyes at Xander.

"They're not doing this for _him_. No, this is about Miss Perfect Slayer. Apparently Angel still has some work to do. Phhhft. What do _they_ know about Angel." Anger laces her words.

Xander's head ticks side to side as he speaks, but doesn't acknowledge her rant.

"What Cordelia means is that the _process _is the catch."

"And that means what exactly?" Willow asks confused.

"As Boy Wonder over there mentioned before, they can't have anything directly to do with it. Bringing a soul back to earth is NOT an easy task, especially when you have to make sure it appears as if you've had nothing to do with it. It's taken this long just to set things in motion. And lucky for you, the catch is all on Angel's shoulders. As usual."

There is softness in Cordelia as she finishes speaking. Resigned, she continues.

"Anyways, we're at the part where you make a choice."

"And that is?" Willow asks calmly.

"You can't get something for nothing, you know that."

Not misunderstanding Cordelia in any way, she remains quiet. But it doesn't frazzle her, she'll do whatever is necessary to make this happen.

"So what do they need?"

Uncharacteristically, Cordelia smiles gently at her.

"You." She says as painlessly as she can.

Xander gives her a sympathetic smile when she turns to look at him.

"Me?"

"For her." Xander answers. He taps his temple. "And you know why."

"The magic." Willow says, clueing in.

Without more than a second's hesitation, she says, "I'll do it."

Motioning with his hands, Xander speaks, "Whoa, slow down there, Will. There are a few other.. less physical things you need to do first."

Opening her eyes, the reality of her room is dull in comparison to where she'd just been. Despite Cordelia, it'd been the best trip she'd ever had to the astral planes. Sitting up, she remembers what she must do now.

_"Get Angel back to where it all started." _Xander's voice rings in her mind.

**OoO**

"If you'll excuse me, I need to see green."

She rolls her sleeves up as an indication to her intentions, and walks out the glass doors. Once outside, she releases the breath of relief she'd been holding ever since Xander had told her to bring Angel back here. L.A. Where it started indeed.

She didn't want to doubt him, but Angel had digressed so much past what she thought possible. Despite his continued presence on this earth, she sometimes wonders if he's now worse than when he'd been nearly suicidal, after the Senior Partners and the death of his entire family, of his only son.

At the time, Buffy staying behind to help him recover had been a good idea. But now, she questions even that decision. She hadn't been around to see it, but in the 6 1/2 months of life they had together, something had happened.

When eventually her and the others descended on California once the End of Days had begun, Willow noticed the change. There was a closeness, an understanding between them, that had never been there before. Not even before he lost his soul. It was as if everything they'd gone through, all the years of loss and death, were designed to unite them when the biggest apocalypse they'd ever faced hit. Her meeting with two halves of the original Scooby Gang had only enforced that notion.

But then, one mistake ended everything, the world was safe but she was gone. And although Buffy had died before, because of those months, this time, it really had destroyed him. So, she fought for him, knowing they were what Angel needed, doing it whether Buffy had asked or not.

And for a brief period of time, he really had gotten better. But 3 deaths had set him back once again, and it was now her responsibility to set him straight.

_"Get Angel to live again." _Cordelia's desperate voice echoed in her ears.

**100 Years**

The time is nearly upon her. 30 years of living in L.A. and she could tell the change of air had done him good. He went back to helping people, one at a time, and on his own terms. True, the cases were not that often, nor that grand but helpful nonetheless. He sometimes smiled even.

She's proud of what she'd managed to accomplish in such a short time, but she sometimes worries her own death will taint that progress.

There is now officially 100 years separating them from Buffy's death, and the time for her own, is finally at hand. She understands the necessity of the time, only hates the years because of the waiting it's put Angel through.

He knows nothing of what's to come, and both Cordelia and Xander stressed how important it was that it remain that way. Everything balances precariously on Angel's unguided choices. It's not fair, but she's come to realize that nothing in life ever is. But sometimes it is, because he's getting a chance that most never get.

She walks out to the once lush green courtyard, and looks around at the dying plants. The sun is setting soon, and she knows what she must do. Understands the benefits of leaving him in this manner. It's the clean cut none of the other deaths had had. She takes a seat, sitting indian style on the floor just outside the courtyard doors. Lighting a candle, she performs the last bit of magic she ever will again.

With her eyes closed, she begins, "_Alucinator, __aperio tuum animus. Vidi meus visio, probo tuus somni ac meus sententia decuit unus..."_

_(Dreamer open your mind. See my vision, let your dreams and my thoughts become one...)_

**OoO**

_"Angel..." _

_A voice carried on the wind rouses him from his slumber. His eyes open. His room is dark, but he sees clearly. _

_"Angel..." It calls again. _

_He swings his feet down and off the bed. After pulling on a pair of pants, he opens the door to his room. The hotel is quiet, and he briefly wonders where Willow is. _

_Reaching the lobby, he flinches slightly as his eyes are blinded by the un-set sun. But the reflection of it passing the windows doesn't sting at all. Walking down the stairs, the glow in the courtyard washes over him and since he doesn't burn, he knows that he is dreaming. _

_Then, he sees Willow sitting on the fountain ledge. Her back to him, she looks up into the sky. He reaches the arch of the entryway, and walks through it. She doesn't react visibly, but he knows she's heard him. _

_As he approaches her, his pace slow and steady, he sees the red of her hair and realizes that her age has faded away, and the Willow before him is no older than he appears to be. He takes a seat next to her. __Turning her head, she looks at him and the smile she gives him is beautiful, unneringly youthful and sweet._

_"Thanks for coming." she says. _

_"What's going on?" He asks, immediately catching her double meaning. _

_"This is it Angel. My last hurrah."_

_He doesn't want to understand what she means, so he feigns confusion. _

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"Endings. Beginnings. Me. You." She answers cryptically. __"It's my time, Angel. You can stop pretending you don't know what I mean."_

_He takes a deep breath. After releasing it slowly, he simply nods; it's submission and acceptance all at once._

_"This is it Angel." She repeats once again. _

_"It's been a hundred years. The time for grief is passed. This is your breaking free party. It's your time too, after all."_

_Stubborn as he is, he says exactly what she expects. _

_"Have you forgotten what I am? What kind of life will I ever live?"_

_"Have you forgotten what __**I**__ am? What i've been saying to you?" _

_As if to prove herself, her body hovers in mid-air, an aura of gold surrounding her like a halo. _

_"It's time." _

_She looks up at the suddenly dark sky, can almost hear the roar of the car speeding down the road. She looks back to him. _

_"Your happy ending. It's coming, Angel." _

_She taps her temple, as she's done for years now. She's not really disclosing anything specific, and she knows he needs the hint. _

_"Trust me, I know. It'll happen if you want it. There's only one left."_

_She flickers like a light about to go out. _

_"One what?" He asks despite himself._

_She reaches out, places her shining hand on his shoulder for a quick moment. _

_"Believe. Forgive."_

_Then, the light surrounding her intensifies, becoming so bright he lifts his arm to shield his eyes. _

_"Help her." Willow's voice is sheer yet thick in the air around him._

_..._

Then, his eyes open and he is back in the safety of his room. Lifting the covers, he sees the pants still encasing his legs. Quickly, he runs out of his room, knowing the hotel will be silent as before.

"Willow?" He calls out.

He runs towards the courtyard entrance, hoping against hope to find her there. The black sky coats it, and she isn't there. But he sees something small and rectangular in the same spot she'd been in, in his dream. He runs out to it. He recognizes it immediately.

Picking it up, he remembers it's been a century since he held it last. Since he added his own grafitti within its pages. He remembers it'd been lost in the fire, yet here he was, looking at its faded yellow lines.

He doesn't know what it means, but he's grateful to Willow for leaving it anyways. And that's the moment he knows it, knows she is gone. Feels it as surely as the book in his hands.

He's not sure what the future will bring yet, and he decides that not knowing is better than hoping there wouldn't be one. It's a place to start.

* * *

A/N: I'm torn on how this chapter turned out. So reviews are definitely welcome. It's all becoming a little more clearer at least, I hope. I have nothing else to say really. I reserve the right to edit in case after reading with fresh eyes again, something doesn't work. sorry.

oh.. Just in case you didn't catch it, "_She looks up at the suddenly dark sky, can almost hear the roar of the car speading down the road"_

THAT'S Buffy's arrival.

Soo.. there are now just 4 months until she finds the Hyperion. Until they meet!

Thanks for reading, alerting and reviewing, It's greatly appreciated! Please stay tuned.


	7. Chapter V: She Was A Phantom Of Delight

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters (and recognizable dialogue and plot) belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

What you need to know: This is set after Willow's "trade-off" and during Buffy's four months in the hospital.

* * *

_**She Was A Phantom Of Delight**_

_She was a phantom of delight  
__When first she gleamed upon my sight;  
__A lovely apparition, sent  
__To be a moment's ornament;  
__Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;  
__Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;  
__But all things else about her drawn  
__From May-time and the cheerful dawn;  
__A dancing shape, an image gay,  
__To haunt, to startle and waylay._

_I saw her upon nearer view,  
__A spirit, yet a Woman too!  
__Her household motions light and free,  
__And steps of virgin liberty;  
__A countenance in which did meet  
__Sweet records, promises as sweet;  
__A creature not too bright or good  
__For human's nature's daily food;  
__For transient sorrows, simple wiles,  
__Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles._

_And now I see with eye serene  
__The very pulse of the machine;  
__A being breathing thoughtful breath,  
__A traveller between life and death;  
__The reason firm, the temperate will,  
__Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;  
__A perfect Woman, nobly planned,  
__To warn, to comfort, and command;  
__And yet a spirit still, and bright  
__With something of angelic light. _

_~William Wordsworth_

Something new stirs in him these days. A numbness that's taken hold of him, thickening his blood into passivity, replacing the agony he's carried since her departure, since their deaths.

Life lacks pattern and purpose, and after everything he's lived through, he's starting to believe there is no reason behind anything anymore. He's never felt so distanced from his past than he does now. Perhaps it's because he's lived with a soul longer than he existed without one, or perhaps it's the fact that everyone who has ever really known him is gone. All he can say for sure is that he's finally fulfilled his promise; they lived normal lives, and although he knows he'll never achieve such a thing for himself, it pleases him to know that at least those she left behind, had.

He wants to believe Willow's last words but finds it impossible. He no longer hopes for Shanshu, doesn't think it was ever going to actually happen. It'd simply been the Powers' way of getting him to be a warrior for their side. Though he knows he should feel anger about this, he simply cannot bring himself to care. In fact, he finds it hard to care about anything at all anymore.

So these days, he mostly keeps to himself. The hours of sunlight seclusion he spends sleeping, reading, and training. Occasionally, he'll renovate some part of the Hotel that needs repair, such as the rooms that haven't had guests in years. The point is, he understands the importance of keeping himself busy, knows with certainty the dangers idleness can bring.

At night, he patrols. Not because he has to (there are at least 2 slayers in the area whom he successfully avoids), he does it simply because he doesn't know how to do anything else. And if he's being honest with himself, it helps him feel closer to her.

There aren't any burbs of Sunnydale to go back to, to help sharpen the sweeter moments of his long life. But the dark alleys of L.A. still stand; the few seconds he held her, kissed her, written in the pavement and the memory of her paved into the city itself. In his darkest hours, he takes comfort in the knowledge that his love for her will burn bright forever. All the years that have transpired only attest this fact, he knows that what they shared was real, unchangeable.

It's with this thought that he walks out into the night. Stepping into the courtyard the barely dark blanket coating the sky gives him momentary pause. Looking up, he notices the stars and moon shining so bright that everything is lit by their light. Shrugging, he thinks nothing of it, and follows his nightly routine.

The night progresses in its usual manner, he heads into the usual demon haunts searching for a whisper of doom among its patrons, even though it seldomly arrives (like tonight). When once upon a time he intimidated information out of others, his method now entails simply sitting at the bar, ordering himself a drink (or many more) and letting his keen vampire hearing do all the work.

His next stop is the nightclub district. The crowds are undesirable but it's here that he usually finds the greatest concentration of enemies; vampires on the hunt for easy prey.

He doesn't go into the clubs however, only stalks the lifeless parking lots and quiet alleyways watching out for suspicious behaviour. He's barely mildly successful tonight, slaying a mere 2 bloodsuckers. The first would-be victim doesn't realize much, her level of toxicity high enough that Angel spends the next half hour trying to shake himself free from her drunken grasp. The second dissapears even before the vamp is dust, and he thanks his lucky stars.

He stays clear of the cemeteries as he considers them slayer turf, and ends his patrol in the deserted dank parts of the city, the desolation of these areas always attracting foul play. Following the week's pattern, this part of his excursion turns out to be unsuccessful.

He's on his way home when out of the corner of his eye he catches a flash of gold. Willow's face fills his mind, and despite the unlikelihood of it being her, his head snaps in that direction. Only, it isn't Willow he sees...

She's walking away from him, her hand skimming the side of the building as she moves. She's as out of place as sunglasses at night; her white silky dress caressing the gravel ground. She turns the corner and as he catches sight of her profile, his unbeating heart constricts.

"Buffy?" Her name burns his mouth like coffee on its way out even though it's barely the breath of a whisper. She's out of sight, and his feet move of their own accord as he follows her direction.

When he reaches the spot she'd been in, again he sees her fleetingly as she rounds yet another corner. The next 20 minutes pass in this manner, he knows he's chasing a figment of his imagination because her being there simply isn't possible. But he follows anyway.

He loses track of her suddenly, and panic courses through him for a quick moment. But then he sees her, and he can breath again (despite not really needing to). She's waiting for him under an old brick archway, wild green vines holding it in a lover-like embrace. Her shoulder rests upon it ever so lightly. Her blonde hair cascades down her back, longer than he's ever seen it. When he's only a few feet away, she turns back towards him and then he knows for sure.

It is her.

Her eyes are green, gray and blue all at once, and in the few seconds of connection, he feels as if he's drowning in the sea of her eyes. Her lips turn up in a smile, then breaking contact she turns back around and dissapears beyond the brick curve of green.

He follows through it quickly as he chases her, but once beyond, she's nowhere to be seen.

Before the sadness manages to take over, the scent of salt distracts him and he becomes aware of his surroundings. He recognizes the area despite the changes a century has put it through.

They've been here before, only they never really have.

...

_He feels her before he sees her. He's not exactly sure how he found her at all, but it doesn't surprise him. They've always held a special connection, aware of one another despite the sheer impossibility of it. There is no real thought process guiding him; he runs on instinct alone, only aware of the fact that he must find her. Quickly, he crosses under a ceiling of green and then he sees her. _

_She senses him as he does her, and turns towards him. She is more an angel than he will ever be, the whiteness of her top only enhancing this idea. Surprise plays clearly on her face as he approaches, and when he's standing before her, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her. _

_Now more than ever, they're two intertwining puzzle pieces who have finally found each other..._

...

_"I'm really sorry I kissed you like that."_

_She turns up, and asks, "You are?" _

_There's hurt hiding in her expression, doubt he needs to erase._

_"Well, not for the kiss itself..." He replies, his voice trailing off. _

_She smiles slightly, clearly relieved by his words. _

_"Good. I mean, 'cause... as far as kisses go, I thought it was well above average."_

_"It was incredible. I just... I.. I think maybe we'd be asking for trouble rushing back into things. Not that I don't want to..." _

_He takes a necessary pause. Switching gears in his thought process._

_"... rush. Believe me, I do."_

_"Are you going to pull out a pie chart on me now? Because I get it, it's not necessary."_

_Her defense mechanism is beginning to kick in, and he knows it can get pretty ugly pretty quick if he lets it. So, he gets up with a sigh and moves to the chair next to her._

_"I'm not saying I don't want you. You know how much.. I'm just saying it's worth the wait to be sure this is right. I need to be sure you won't get hurt again."_

_His honesty catches her, he can see it in the way she moves as she stands. _

_"You know it's a good thing I didn't fantasize about you turning human only about 10 zillion times, because today would have been a real let down." _

_She pauses. "So how does the mature plan go? You call me? I call you? What?"_

_Angel follows, stepping over to her, "We stay in touch - just not.."_

_She smiles sarcastically. _

_"Literally. - Funny." _

_They hold a lingering look then, unknowingly the same thought filling their mind. Breaking it, she walks past him._

_"Okay, I'd better.."_

_Angel turns to look after her, "Right. Remove the temptation."_

_She can feel his look burning her back, so she turns around. "So, we'll... talk soon."_

_He's resting his hand on the counter, and she puts hers over his. She wants to create some sort of goodbye, but also needs to feel the warmth of his skin one last time. _

_But then, the minute flesh touches flesh, an invisible spark forces both their eyes down. There is no time to think, what is bound to happen is as fated as the dawning of a new day. He turns his hand so that it holds hers, and needs more than just that touch. He reaches out, and pulls her into a desperate kiss. They're lost in haze of passion, a yearning too deep to deny. Still in an embrace, they stumble up against the fridge; Buffy leaping lightly off her feet in order to wrap them around his waist._

_But still, it's everything and yet it's not enough._

_He carries her over to the kitchen table, the feel of her body so close urging him on. With only Buffy on his mind, he sweeps the table clear in swift motion and lays her down on it..._

_..._

_"Why didn't you ever tell me about chocolate and peanut butter?" He asks honestly. The lightness in his voice one she's never heard before._

_"Well, I figured if your vamp taste buds couldn't really savor it, then it would only hurt you, you know?"_

_ The simple carefree way she's feeling causes her to speak some truth, "By the way, I'm over the whole needing to be mature thing. That time you just spent in the kitchen? That was enough time apart."_

_He feels it too, and smiles in return. "Too much."_

_Lips find lips, the kiss tender in nature. Distracted, some ice cream drips from his spoon on his chest._

_Jokingly he says, "Okay, mortal coordination leaving something to be desired."_

_"Wrong. It's just right." she replies, h__er face mischevious as she speaks. _

_ While she licks up the ice cream from his chest, Angel laughs and pulls her down into a kiss..._

_..._

_They've never really been like this before, yet he's more comfortable than he's ever been with any woman. With her head in the crook of his arm and her hand resting gently over his heart, he feels as if this is where he was always meant to be._

_She's resting her head on his chest, and so he can't see her face as she speaks, "It's a good sound. Thump-thump. Thump-thump."_

_He smiles, "It feels pretty amazing."_

_"I'm so glad we didn't logic ourselves out of this. We'll make it work, right?" She asks, her voice with nothing that can be described as anything but hope._

_"We will." And he really believes it._

_..._

_"Angel?" _

_Her voice is soft, as if aware of the lull of fulfilled sleep heading their way. His response is a stir, and she continues. _

_"This is the first time I ever really felt this way."_

_"What way?" He asks sleepily. _

_Even with his eyes closed he feels her smile dreamily._

_"Just like I've always wanted to. Like a normal girl, falling asleep in the arms of her normal boyfriend." _

_She pauses for a quick second, "It's perfect."_

He closes the memory off then, not willing to reread the tragic ending of that day. It all remains vivid in the book of his mind, and he finds himself wondering what kind of life he might have lived had he not erased that day. He knows regrets are pointless, but he can't help feel it anyways. Especially since she died another two times and there was nothing his vampirism did to prevent it.

He wants to lash out at the world, at the Powers, the Oracles who lied, but finds himself frozen still. He focuses instead on the way the sun kissed her skin, the way his heart rushed when he touched her, the lightness he'd felt inside for the first and last time. Unbidden, tears slide down his cheeks as he becomes lost in memories that never happened.

It is not until the demon inside reminds him of the encroaching sun that he realizes he's lost track of the time. With the rising of the sun at his heels, he ducks into the closest sewer and finally heads home.

The undirect route adds another 15min to his travel and so it's not until the sun colours the sky that he finally reaches the basement of the Hyperion. Because it's not an entrance he uses often, he forgets how crowded it is down there. After Willow, he couldn't really look at anything that reminded him of his tormented past, so he quickly boxed everything except his clothes, weapons and books. It all seemed so unneccesary.

Now, slipping through piles of things, and dropping a hastily stacked pile of boxes he wishes he'd just left it all out. Not really wanting to clean up but knowing he must, he throws the items back into the box without care. The sound of the trinkets hitting each other silent his racing mind. He finishes quickly and heads up the stairs.

It's not until he's well into the lobby that he notices the scent. It's not one he recognizes; a combination of sun-dried laundry and lavender that isn't entirely unnappealing.

He isn't all that surprised. Sometimes he catches the scent of another human when he returns in the night. Usually it's someone in desperate need of a place to crash for a few hours, and they're usually gone when he gets back. Mostly though, people stay away. He's not sure wherther that's a good thing or not.

He scans the area looking for any sign of disturbance (because it has happened), but it all seems fine and since nothing really occupies the space his eyes trail over to his bookcases. The first, containing the older volumes of demon lore, remains intact.

To anyone other than this ensouled vampire, the second bookshelf looks intact as well. However, he knows. This shelf is missing only one book. In seconds, Angel no longer resembles Angel; ridges and yellow eyes where deep brown ones should be.

Again he regrets the move, wishing desperately there was something he could destroy. But there isn't, and his hand comes crashing down on the island countertop. In three hundred years he's never really resented the Sun til this moment.

The scent is still fresh, and only the burning rays of the traitorous Sun keep him from chasing it. The agony will come soon, but for now he takes solace in the rage.

* * *

A/N: Sorry that took soo long!

Ok, just a quick note: Memory was of course IWRY. It's just bits and fragments, there was too much B/A in that episode to include it all! haha ... I hope I did it justice though. Anyways, it's kind of a short chapter. Sorry.

And yes.. the scent he catches is in fact who you think it is. It is all coming together...

Spoiler: Angel and a certain lady reunite! But beware... everything is not what it seems...

And thanks to all those reviewing, I appreciate that you're all staying tuned!


	8. Chapter VI: A Magic Moment I Remember

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Sorry for the delay... the moment everyone was waiting for is finally here..

(that was pretty cocky.. sorry.)

Anyways, hope you like!

* * *

_**A Magic Moment I Remember**_

_A magic moment I remember:  
__I raised my eyes and you were there.  
__A fleeting vision, the quintessence  
__Of all that's beautiful and rare._

_I pray to mute despair and anguish  
__To vain pursuits the world esteems,  
__Long did I near your soothing accents,  
__Long did your features haunt my dreams._

_Time passed- A rebel storm-blast scattered  
__The reveries that once were mine  
__And I forgot your soothing accents,  
__Your features gracefully divine._

_In dark days of enforced retirement  
__I gazed upon grey skies above  
__With no ideals to inspire me,  
__No one to cry for, live for, love._

_Then came a moment of renaissance,  
__I looked up- you again are there,  
__A fleeting vision, the quintessence  
__Of all that's beautiful and rare._

_Alexander Pushkin_

_OoO_

_The dark night bears down on her as the clack of her heels hit the pavement. The street is quiet and deserted, the only other sound the whoosh of the wind startling the trees. Beneath her light and carefree appearance, her body is coiled tight. The only indication that she's aware of another is the slight turn of her neck. She walks steadily, her eyes darting around in search of a better position to put herself in._

_It arrives then, in the form of an unlit alley which she readily turns down. Her head veers side to side, up and down, studying her surroundings. She's entirely engrossed in her situation that she barely notices the cat yowling as it takes off. There isn't really anywhere to hide and she's about to start panicking until she catches view of the beam above her head. Her lips turn up in relief, and she's suddenly grateful for her apt resourcefulness._

_With years of cheerleading and gymnastics under her belt, she leaps gracefully and catches the bar. She swings her legs and body up until she's balanced perfectly at the top of it, her feet aiming pointedly at the moon._

_Barely seconds later, a tall figure enters the small space of the alley. He looks around, but even from her point of view she can tell that he hasn't seen her. Waiting for the opportune moment (just after he's passed under her), she shifts her feet forward, the rest of her body following as she slices the air in her descent. She catches his back and knocks him to the ground._

_She lets go, lands firmly, then places her foot dominantly over his chest._

_His attitude is brazen and he smiles as if he knows something she does not. _

_"Ah.. heh... Is there a problem, ma'am?" He asks, holding his hands mockingly in the air._

_His arrogance doesn't fool her, and with equal confidence she responds, "Yeah, there's a problem. Why are you following me?"_

_There is something off about him, something she can't quite place..._

_"I know what you're thinking." His voice interrupts her thoughts. _

_Then, "Don't worry, I don't bite."_

_Suddenly the cockiness in him is gone, and in the flash of a second she catches something akin to honesty, and decides to back off. She lets him get up, but keeps her fighting stance because she knows better than to let her guard down._

_He's all casualness as he speaks. _

_"Truth is, I thought you'd be taller, or bigger muscles and all that. You're pretty spry, though." _

_Unable to stop himself, his hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck._

_She's not exactly sure what he's talking about, but feels slightly offended anyways._

_ "What do you want?" She asks._

_"The same thing you do." _

_The volume level of his voice drops, and if it weren't for the fact that she's midly annoyed by him, she might have found it attractive._

_She drops her stance, not sensing danger from him after all, only feels irritation at his words. _

_"What do I want?"_

_He takes a step towards her, __"To kill them. To kill them all." He replies._

_And despite the content of his words, her breath hitches ever so slightly. But the fact is, she finally understands what he's talking about, and her desire to let this topic drop dead erases her momentary highschool girl reaction._

_"Sorry, that's incorrect. But you do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of Turtle Wax."_

_Her voice is pure sarcasm as it comes out. "What I WANT is to be left alone!"_

_She hears the temper tantrum quality of her voice and regrets it, but remains determined as she begins to walk away._

_"Do you really think that's an option anymore?" He calls out from behind her. _

_"You're standing at the Mouth of Hell. And it's about to open."_

_The words are familiar, and the tone of his voice is sincere in a way she hadn't expected and so she stops. She turns and looks at him, her eyes wide with astonishment._

_She barely moves as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small black box._

_"Don't turn your back on this." _

_He tosses it to her, and she catches it easily. It's small, rectangular, and soft. Being 16 and a girl, she knows immediately what it is._

_"You've gotta be ready." He says, warning in the tone of his voice._

_"What for?" She asks. _

_As if he knows the effect his voice has, he responds darkly, "For the Harvest." _

_"Who are you?" She asks with more interest than she'd like. _

_He smiles coyly, "Let's just say... I'm a friend." _

_He walks past her, starting to leave. _

_Wanting more, whether that means conversation or the last word she can't yet tell, she adds, " Yeah, well, maybe I don't want a friend." _

_Turning back, the smile on his face devilish and angelic all at once, "I didn't say I was yours." _

_Then, he leaves. She stares after him for a moment, irked because she finds herself hoping she'll see him again. _

_She remembers the box suddenly, and with both hands opens it. Inside she finds a classic silver cross and chain. She takes it out, appreciating its simple elegance._

_She knows it isn't flirtation he offers, not even friendship, though he said as much. The cross is considerate and thoughtful, almost as if he's concerned for her well being. The notion warms her inside; from the apple of her cheeks down to the tips of her toes..._

The sound is almost too faint to startle, but the inmense silent hours passed intensify its power. She awakes with a start, her hand reaching up to her neck searching for something that isn't there. For a second she doesn't know where she is, but she sees a frame of light encasing the boarded up doors in front of her and she remembers.

However, there isn't time to focus on the fog of dream still surrounding her, not even time to focus on the notion that she's spent the entire night there because she suddenly hears banging from underneath the floor. Her insides constrict as she takes in a breath and realizes that someone is downstairs. She doesn't know if she's been found or not, but her head is telling her to book it, and so she does.

She walks softly, grateful for the light canvas runners she had to take. She shimmies through the door leading out through the garden and pulls the gate to the street open with all her might. Once free, she runs as fast as her feet take her. So its not until she takes a break to breathe, that she feels the book firmly grasped in her hand.

"Shit."

The word slips silently out of her mouth, her forehead creasing in the same moment. She hadn't wanted to take it. She looks at it briefly, and admits to herself that she is still curious about it. Then, she lets it drop to her side and takes a look around.

The morning air is still brisk, and the light zip sweater she's wearing isn't exactly warm enough. And now that she's standing still, she feels the emptiness in her stomach, having had nothing since she was at the hospital the day before. She decides on finding someplace to get a bite to eat and consider her options.

She walks a couple of blocks more until she sees a seemingly inexpensive diner tucked in tightly between a drycleaners and a pharmacy. Stepping inside, to her right there are a couple of men sitting at the counter, talking and drinking coffee. A waitress bustles around behind it, a rag in her hand as she wipes surfaces clean. To her left, is a small family occupying a booth, both parents occupied with their kids. Walking past them all, she makes brief eye contact with the server and then takes a booth near the back. She places the book on the table in front of her.

"What can I get ya, honey?"

An older voice startles her then, and she snaps her head towards the sound. It's just the waitress, a woman in her early 50's, blonde hair and black rimmed blue eyes. The nametag on her lapel says Summer, and she can't help but wonder if that's her real name or not. She seems genuine and friendly, but perhaps a little overworked.

"All day breakfast, please?" She replies quietly.

The woman nods slightly, and jots something into her notebook, then looks back up.

"How'd you like your eggs?"

"Ummm... scrambled." She answers.

She isn't exactly sure how she likes her eggs, and equally unsure how she knows that scrambled is a safe bet.

After making another quick note, the waitress says then, "We only got bacon, is that alright?"

She nods, and Summer then asks, "Coffee?"

"Yes please."

Finally the breakfast interview is over. The lady smiles gently, offers an "It'll be right up" and walks away.

Her gaze returns to the object still lying on the table waiting for her. She picks it up and her fingers graze the cover as she pulls it open. She flips through the pages quickly, half looking for the last page she remembers reading the night before, and the other half mesmerized by the contents and shape of the book itself. On one hand, it's tattered and ripped, as if its owner cared less about it. On the other hand, there's faded yellow lines accentuated throughout it, which only seems to indicate to her the level of affection someone had for the book. She skims past the middle when the combination of weight and dilapidation cause the pages to close shut and she's left on the last blank page. Only, it isn't blank at all.

Bringing the book closer, she sees what appears to be writing. The font is cursive and elegant, as if written in a different time. Unable to stop herself, she reads the inscription.

**_It's all I have to bring to-day,_**  
**_This, and my heart beside,_**  
**_This, and my heart, and all the fields,_**  
**_And all the meadows wide._**  
**_Be sure you count, should I forget, -_**  
**_Someone the sum could tell, -_**  
**_This, and my heart, and all the bees_**  
**_Which in the clover dwell._**

_**These words aren't mine, but they're still true (except for maybe the bee part).**_

_**My heart has always belonged to you, but this time I'm going to do things my way. I can't walk away anymore, even if it is the right thing to do.**_

_**This, all that I am; demon and soul, devotion and my heart, is yours. Forever.**_

_**The world be damned.**_

_**Angel**_

The book falls flat on the table, the vibration echoing loud enough to grab a fraction of attention from the family who sits closest to her. She shares a momentary glance with the mother, who smiles at her then looks away.

Her head turns back down to the story, her body coiling inward as she does. Her arms wrap around herself, and she shrinks into the hard back of her booth. The fraction of guilt she had previously felt is now a gaping hole. Even though there's a context she knows she's not getting, the importance this book is to someone is not lost on her.

In her heart, she knows she has to take it back.

Tentatively, she loosens her grip, and with both hands reaches out to grab the novel and picks it up. Her elbows rest heavily on the table while she searches for her page, having decided that there was no harm in finishing it. When she finds it, her elbows tuck in and she begins to read.

Engrossed, she barely notices when her food arrives. But the scent is intoxicating, and eventually she begins to both eat and read.

OoO

The slow pace of her breakfast eventually gets her halfway through the story when finally she decides to put it down. Now that her hunger has dissipated the next neccessity pops into her head.

Shelter.

She has enough money for maybe another day and that's definitely not enough. Her eyes rest on the book and suddenly an idea finds itself in her mind. She lifts her head, searching for the lady who played waitress for her.

Their eyes connect almost instantly, and she wonders if perlady her waitress had been waiting to catch her attention as well. She walks towards the booth, a smile on her tired face.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to go all the way to the end." Summer says jokingly.

From her seat, she offers a small smile in response. She opens her mouth to speak when her friendly waitress does instead.

"It's ok honey. I'm just teasing. When I pick up a good book, and I can tell that's a good one," She points to it, clearly focusing on its rough exterior, then continues, " and I can't put it down, I just read right on through."

She covers her mouth dramatically, and adds softly, "And if I have to work, I call in sick!"

Summer's kind energy is contagious, and so she answers with the only retort she can think of, "What else are sick days for, right? Well that, and shopping of course."

"A girl true to my heart. Now, before the boss hears, what can I get ya hun?"

That persistent grin still on her face. Though, decidedly less tired all of a sudden.

Feeling more comfortable, she speaks, "Well, it's kind of off topic, but I thought I'd ask anyways. Um... there's this big building, a few blocks down from here, on Hyperion Ave. Do you know about it by chance? It's really old, shabby, kind of the only thing on its block?"

At her words, Summer's body language changes; her arms cross and there is an awareness in her gait, her smile shifts from friendliness to one that understands a little better.

"The Hyperion Hotel. Kinda hard to miss, ain't it?"

Without waiting for a response she continues, "I know what your college classmates probably told you, but it's not haunted. Trust me, I happen to know that for a fact."

Wanting to defend herself she says, "I'm not a college kid. I wasn't wondering if it was haunted, I was just..." She pauses, trying to find the appropriate word that isn't lying.

She decides going with, "... curious. I mean, it's probably the only building in this whole neighbourhood in desperate need of a paintjob. There's a story there, and I was just..."

"Curious." Summer finishes for her, the same state of being now on her face as well, "I know, you said."

Suddenly worried she's being found out, some of her newfound stamina flees. She responds with a discreet smile, and nods.

After a moment's pause, a moment she can only assume is scrutiny, the blonde lady continues, "I'm sorry, I thought you were one of those college kids who think it's funny to break into the place, try to spook themselves out and when that doesn't work tear the place up."

"I'm not up to no good, I promise." She says genuinely, then returns to her curiosity, which has now increased even more so.

"You said you knew something for a fact? About how it's not haunted?"

The kind waitress' smile lights up again, and she answers, "Curious, curious! Well, today happens to be your lucky day. If my only night shift waitress hadn't just quit on me, and you'd come for breakfast any later than now, you'd have ended up leaving without any information at all. Never mind the fact that right now," she signals back to the two men at the counter, carrying a conversation with a man, also in his 50's, on the other side of it.

"Aside from those three, who'll be there for another half hour or so, you have my undivided attention. So, as it is, well you're getting the whole kit and caboodle. Mind if I take a seat?"

She barely gets a chance to nod when the woman sits down.

"I'm taking a little break."

After a pause, she resumes, "If you haven't figured it out, the man in the apron is my husband, and we own the place. Well, he got it from his father, and I met him working here, almost 30 years ago. I won't give you my life's tale, but there's always a little backdrop in any good story, right?"

She places her hand on the book and honestly says, "Ain't that the truth."

"Well, a long time ago, when I was a young woman, and I worked the morning shift, this old lady, sweet as a peach, used to come in for breakfast every Sunday. Sounds ordinary, right?"

She waits for confirmation, and when she gets it, continues, "Well, and it was. At least, it ended up being that way. The first time though, it wasn't."

She pauses, her eyes unfocusing, as if she's remembering something past. Then she speaks.

"The first time she came, she was in a rage. Much more forceful than a woman her age should be, if you ask me. Must have been the adrenaline... Anywho... she stormed right to the counter, where I happened to be, and forcefully at first, ordered herself a coffee. She mumbled something about not caring whether she was allowed to or not when I was pouring it for her. She was clearly furious, and unable to contain myself, I asked her if she was ok. She calmed down almost immediately, apologized for her behaviour, and went on to tell me how she had recently taken possession of the Hyperion and how barely a week of being there, someone had already destroyed her beautiful garden."

At her obvious surprise, Summer takes a small moment to take a breath, "Believe it or not, that place has been speculated about for a lot longer than my lifetime. So, of course, when she moved in, all the hooligans must have thought she was a witch or something. Bothered her incesantly at first, but eventually they backed off. I once asked her why she bothered, and she simply said it had been in her family for decades and decades, and she wouldn't dream of letting it go."

Engrossed, she asks, "And now?"

"I don't really know, except that it must still be in the family. The way my place is, otherwise, it'd be a shiny box like all the others. People still gossip, but nothing bad has ever happened there. Aside from the occasional vandalizing."

A block of silence follows, when she speaks again she's careful, "Now... tell me something."

Unknowingly, she nods yes.

"You're looking for a place to crash, aren't you?" Summer asks gently, her smile sympathetic and kind.

She can feel her cheeks colouring red, and with her head down shakes it side to side, a clear no. With her right hand she reaches into her pocket to pay, but then she feels Summer's warm hand on her left. Her head snaps up towards the contact, and then towards the woman's face. Frozen stiff, she just sits there as Summer speaks.

"Don't be embarrased hun. I know how it can be in this city."

Letting go, she reaches into the front pocket of her apron. She places a small white card on the table, a small triangle sitting on top of a box, drawn in the middle of it. "It's a women's shelter. If you get there before 6, they'll give you a hot meal and a warm bed. And don't worry, it's legit. The people are really nice."

When she continues to say nothing, Summer once again speaks, "Don't worry about breakfast. It's on me."

She hesitates, but the lack of a response carries the words out despite herself.

"This isn't pity ok? I've been there too. Someone was kind enough to help me out when I was, and I want to do the same."

She stands, and before leaving says, "Seems meant to be, you coming here. You seem like a good girl, and I really don't want to be here another night, so the night shift is yours if you want it."

Her lips curl upwards, and gratefully she says, "It really is my lucky day, isn't it?"

OoO

He's been holding the position he's currently sitting in for hours now, and so when the courtyard gate creaks, his supernatural hearing picks it up unequivocally. He breaks it when he stands and walks towards and out his bedroom door.

The next sound he hears, minutes later, is the slight creak of the metal door. A habit ingrained in him for hundreds of years now, he sticks to the shadows as he makes his way towards the lobby. Once there, he blocks himself from view with the help from one of the Hotel's columns.

Looking down towards the stairs by the entrance, he sees a girl creeping in covertly, attempting her version of stealth. Her long black hair covers most of her face, and her clothes are one size too big, so he can't really make her out. But even so, she can't be more than 25, he thinks. And although she's petite, there is too much femininity for her to be younger than 18.

His mind quiets down when she heads towards the office area, towards his bookcases.

"Where's my book?"

He manages to ask steadily, even as he moves with vampire speed. She's the one who took it, he just knows it.

She flinches at his voice, and spins towards the exit, but when she sees him standing by the doors, she jerks back as she comes to a quick halt. Finally able to see her fully and catch her familiar scent, he barely registers his preciseness as his dark irises meet her green ones.

He's exactly tall, dark and handsome, not much older than her. Although she knows she should be frightened, or at the very least concerned, she isn't. His voice may have contained anger, but his eyes convey sadness and resign, not danger.

I didn't mean to take it." She answers, lifting her arm, the book he's searching for in her hand.

"I came to bring it back."

She slowly steps backwards, maintaining contact with a pair of eyes that seem to bore into her soul.

"Let me guess, you heard me crash around downstairs and so you just took off with it in your hand?" He asks sardonically, mostly because what they're discussing is the relatively minor issue of theft, versus the larger issue of tresspassing.

His acurateness ceases her footsteps, and a slight blush taints her cheeks.

"I came to bring it back" she repeats.

Her feet resume their course, and as she reaches the countertop, places the book on it. With her eyes still locked, fails to see the giant crack in the marble.

"OK, well.. I'm sorry for intruding, and I think i'll just go now." She continues awkwardly.

He doesn't seem to know her, she doesn't exactly remember him, and because she'd come here hoping to gain insight to herself, this fact is somewhat distressing.

She's waiting for him to step aside, and even though he is satisfied, he doesn't move.

"Why'd you come here last night?" He asks instead.

Unable, and unwilling to tell him the truth, she only says, "I was just curious."

"To see if it was haunted?" He asks, holding the same tone of voice as before.

It's been around 100 years since the rumours started and yet the college kids still plague him from time to time.

Shaking her head, "I'm not a college kid." she answers, despite not really knowing if that's accurate or not.

He wonders briefly if she can read his mind, but dispels the notion almost immediately. She's just human, not only can he smell it, he just knows it.

"Then who are you, and why did you come here?"

He asks because there is something peculiar about her, something he can't put his fingers on. He studies her, and it only takes a few seconds for him to piece it all together. He relaxes as he comes to understand her truth, though finds it intriguing how many things he seems to be just.. getting.

"You were looking for a place to crash." He finally says when she still hasn't spoken.

"Don't be afraid to admit it."

He takes a few tentative steps down and stops when he's level with her. He's taking his time because he sincerely doesn't want to frighten her. He can't say why that is exactly, he just knows that this is the first real human conversation he's had in years, and even more importantly, it's one he wants to keep having.

"So many are in this city."

He continues, "You aren't the first to come here looking for shelter, and you won't be the last."

After he finishes speaking, he breaks contact and his eyes search for the item laying on the tabletop behind her. He walks towards her slowly, but without hesitation. From his peripheral he cathes her flinch as he walks by, but once he's past her, her tension fades.

"What's your name?" He asks as he picks up the book and delicately runs his fingers over it.

He takes a moment to hold it, then he turns towards the bookcase, carefully sliding it into its rightful place.

She turns to face him even though she knows she should use this chance to run. Wanting to answer him, but not having an available answer, she says the first name that comes to mind.

"Summer." She answers simply.

At the hospital they had called her Ms. Smith, as in Jane Smith instead of Jane Doe, because she's alive and not dead. But that's not who she is, and well, Summer is the first person who's been kind to her since waking from her short coma.

His eyes are still on the book when she speaks but the name rocks him, and he spins around quickly, and their eyes once again connect.

Still the gentleman he's almost always been, he says the only appropriate thing he can think of to say, "I'm Angel."

He thinks about extending his hand, but decides against it. He can tell she's still uncertain, and any kind of forwardness might be misinterpreted. She doesn't answer yet again, and her silence prolongs until the air is stiff around them. He's given her plenty of opportunity to run, and yet she's still standing before him, which only leads him to believe one thing.

"Are you running from somewhere?" He asks, his voice distorting the quiet.

"From someone?" He's trying to ease into the reason that keeps her here.

She appreciates his delicacy, even though he's not on the right path.

"I wish." She mumbles both hopefully and disdainfully.

His forehead creases as if he doesn't exactly understand what she means, and she's surprised he heard her. And she realizes then, that she's about to regale her brief life's story to him. She doesn't know why she feels like she can trust him, but she does.

"If I were running from somewhere or someone, at least there'd be a reason for me to be doing so."She says as means of explaining.

But the look of puzzlement is still on his face, so bluntly she adds, "I don't really know who I am."

He opens his mouth to speak, but she isn't finished yet.

"And before you tell me that it is impossible, let me tell you, I am not in the database. Triple checked me."

His forehead scrunches, and understanding, she answers, "the medical staff" then returns to her previous thought, "and nothing. And I know what that has to mean, what everyone seems to believe. And are so keen to share with me, might I add."

She takes a deep breath, aware of the way her voice sounds, and the way her emotions have elevated.

"I may not remember anything past a month ago, but I'm fairly sure i'm not a.."

Her hands lift to emulate quotation marks as she says, "a homeless person who has been continuously homeless for a year or more."

She crosses her arms defensively then, "Hospitals are supposed to make you feel better, not worse." She says mostly to herself.

"What happened?" He asks curiously after another bout of wordlessness.

"You mean why was I in the hospital in the first place?"

He nods.

"Apparently, I was hit by a car. Somehow I survived, went into a coma instead. Woke up a month ago with information but no memories. The doctors weren't helping, so I left."

She pauses, "I guess I don't like hospitals very much."

The quiet encroaches again, but her rant gives her the strength to ask something she's been thinking about since walking back here.

"You're probably wondering why I haven't taken off yet, with all the opportunity I've had and all. But the thing is, I can't help but notice how much space you've got going for you here, and I could really, " she emphasizes the next word, "_really_ use a place to stay."

Again, he prepares to speak, and again she cruises right over his still garaged words.

"And you're also probably asking yourself, 'why should I help her?' but i've already found a job and I can pay. And it wouldn't be forever, just until I figure out who I am, or until I can afford my own place. Whatever comes first."

He's still, and even though he heard her entire rant, only 2 words stick out in his mind: _help her._

And the scariest part of it all, is that he wants to.

Finally, he says, "I do have a lot of space."

* * *

A/N: So what did you think?

I know, it wasn't the explosion of romance you might have thought was coming, and its because the story isnt quite done yet... Angel is still a vampire, and Buffy.. well she doesn't remember who she is. I know it all seems to be happening too easy (the information regarding meeting Willow, yes it was her, the job offer, the place to stay deal), but that's the idea... fate. And because they are Angel and Buffy (though not aware) it seemed obvious to me that they'd be comfortable with each other from the get go.

The poem in the book added by Angel is 'It's all I have to bring today' by Emily Dickenson. More details regarding this to come soon...

Next, the dream scene is of course from "Welcome to the Hellmouth", but what's new is that this time she actually remembered a little bit of her dream. I wonder if that has anything to do with where she is... The rumours Angel mentioned are a reference to NFA, and the big fight that took place behind the Hyperion... Ok, so in my future, or at least as deep as I'm delving into it anyways, is that Los Angeles is a much less 'personal' city. It's driven by numbers and facts, and it you're not plugged into the system somewhere (i.e. job, school, housing, etc) that leaves only one other option. The one she's been pegged with, and the one she doesn't believe.

Which leads me to my final note, why she doesn't look like herself. She's been dead for a hundred years, the way I understand it from the series, is that the body is really only a shell. And to be brutally honest, having her look like her, just didn't work for me. It couldn't be that easy.

SOOO.. thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed, and next chapter to be posted soon!

Pease review, feedback is always appreciated!

Thanks!


	9. Chapter VII: The Follies Of Summer

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Again, sorry this took so long! I've had major writer's block, and it seems like i've been working on it forever. Its kind of a short chapter, so I apologize.

Anyway, here it is!

* * *

**_The Follies Of Summer_**

_Quicksand, ocean sky  
__Wondering, don't ask me why or how we got here  
__We just did  
__The most eternal sun-drenched kiss is locked in my mind as  
__Something I won't miss  
__Or even try to remember  
__Summer has come and gone so many times I've lost count  
__Endless, nameless, marked by time as nothing special  
__But the warmth is here, you see  
__In darling soliloquy  
__Hidden in costume and fine-boned prose  
__Under canopies of sheltered light and life  
__Summer is here and it is all mine_

_Billy Corgan_

In the stillness of his room he realizes now that he lost reason somewhere amidst her calm composure and her great green eyes. He remembers the way his anger fizzled in the clarity of her gaze, igniting not only his sincere interest, but something else as well. He recognized the readiness in his words, almost purely by the sheer magnitude of them. In those first few minutes with her, he'd felt... something. And although he still has yet to define what that'd been exactly, it had at least been significant enough for him to break his cardinal rule.

_Stay away. _

Sure, he meant the rule more as a metaphor than a literal one, it wasn't about staying physically away, just in the ways that really counted. Emotional ties such as friendship, duty, goodwill... love... are just all too dangerous for others when it comes to him. Yet he disobeyed the essence of that rule, let a human, an unknowing one at that, into his sanctuary. And for someone like him, that is quite a concession.

It has never been hidden knowledge that Angel has only ever felt comfortable enough to be himself with a select few. Add to that, each and every one of those relationships took months and in some cases years to achieve. And yet here was this girl, barging into his small world, shattering the delicate walls he'd spent years perfecting. He cannot deny the easiness he feels around her.

He places her in Willow's old room, the only one furnished aside from his own and that one other, and he relinquishes anything that might be left of hers to this complete stranger.

It'd only taken the small movement of a curtain in her new quarters for him to fully register all the problems her residency here would bring. Her fingers had found the space between the hanging fabric, the wordless reminder of his nature cutting the room in half, burning away only the last figments of his ignorance. He'd taken off before the incoming rays had found him, before the tinge of smoke could give him away.

Safe in his haven, the soles of his feet tread the carpeted floor as he tries to think only of what he must do to keep his truth a lie. Even though he's always been able to get by on half truths and omissions, this time, he's not sure that'll be enough. He knows that sharing a space with someone, even a space as large as the Hyperion, doesn't allow for much secrecy. She's bound to uncover his mask of humanity, it's only a matter of time.

Because there is no real way to explain all the eccentricities of his daily habits. For example: his aversion to the sun. That one sits at the top of his list. The Hotel is covered in darkness, and she, like so many others in his life, lives in the light.

Then there is the matter of his nightly routine. It is not a habit he is willing to give up, and even more importantly, one he _can_ give up. There is no real danger to her to provoke the notion of stopping, he doesn't make the splashes he used to in the demon world, and so he hasn't been on anyone's radar in years.

What he worries about is not his enemies, but himself.

There is darkness in him, and even though the presence of his soul lights it away to the recesses of his being, it is still there. The trail of bodies in his past, not of his enemies, but of those whom he loved most, is all he needs to remind him what kind of Angel he truly is.

And so, there is only one resolution that comes to his mind. A tradition faithfully believed in, long time followed.

_Stay away._

_**OoO**_

The only thing that occupies their moving space, aside from them, is the solidity of silence. She follows him down the dark corridors towards her room, her steps not quite quick enough to keep his pace so she's forever two feet behind.

He speaks once, only to mention the other entrance, and that she can roam as she pleases save for the floor he's on, he works nights and so he sleeps during the day so he'd rather not be bothered unless absolutely necessary.

Despite the obvious potential for awkwardness to rear its uncomfortable head into the situation, it doesn't. She, of course, feels it, at first. It starts in the tips of her fingers, a prickling present as she tugs at the sleeves of her sweater. But he speaks nonchalantly, and the notion is replaced by another. Although he's not in any way monstrous, she can't help but feel like the Belle to his Beast. A small soundless chuckle escapes her lips at the thought.

She realizes they've finally reached her room when he pulls out a keychain and begins fumbling for a key.

"I haven't worked on the higher floors, so if you decide to go up there, just be careful." He says as he slips a key into the lock and turns it.

He pushes the door open, but remains standing outside its threshold.

"You can have whatever is in there. I cleaned it out recently, but in case I missed something, and you want it, its yours." He says still not facing her.

His voice is laced with something, and even though she doesn't understand what he means exactly, she doesn't ask.

"Thanks." She says when he looks back at her, then she sees his eyes and realizes the something is nostalgia... and melancholy. And then its gone.

Bound by curiousity, she walks towards the room. Just before she passes him, he hands her a key. She grabs it from his outstretched hand artfully avoiding contact.

His eyes are on her, so she says the only thing that comes to mind, "Thanks again. For all this."

"It's no problem."

He smiles slightly, but there is something sardonic about it and it leaves her feeling like there's something she's not getting.

She passes him and takes a quick look around. But she's suddenly distracted by the call of the Sun, overwhelmed with the need to be immersed in it. Looking down at the street below her, the muted greys and browns of the pavement and wall look harsh under the pounding rays. The respite she thought she'd get doesn't come, so after a moment, she turns around to where she thought he still was and only sees an empty door frame. She shrugs but deep inside feels the pangs of rejection. She tries to remember that he's a complete stranger, and there was no reason for him to stay. Everything that might have needed to be known was said during their journey here.

She abandons the light streaming through the curtains. It dissapears behind the thick green fabric, and without realizing it, she feels better. Remembering the availability of a hot shower, she moves with purpose. She opens the closet, hoping to find a bathrobe (this is a hotel after all, and the room _is_ furnished) but finds only a large cardboard box on the floor with a simple B on it. She hesitates opening it at first, but remembers his words at the entrance, words she hadn't understood til now.

Uncrossing the box's lapels, and seeing what it holds inside, she smiles.

...

Walking out of the bathroom, feeling impossibly clean from the warm water, and amazingly fresh from the clothing she found, she looks at her reflection in the mirror attached to the dark mahogany dresser opposite her bed. Despite the relief of her current surroundings, she feels exasperated by the unfamiliarity of the face looking back at her.

She steps back towards the bed, and sits. Her resignation develops form as she falls back onto it, an audible sigh escaping her throat. Black hair fanned around her, she tries to focus on something from before, but all that fills her mind is the beachy landscape of L.A. and the kind man somewhere amidst her. Soothed by the almost audible waves in her mind, or by the calmness in his eyes, she falls asleep.

_**OoO**_

Staying away turns out to be more difficult than he'd previously thought.

He tucks himself away until nightfall, emerging hours later than he usually would. He'd wanted to fall into his usual routine, had planned on stretching and working his body in the vast space of the lobby until it was time to head out into the night. But he finds himself affixed to the absence of light in his room. He's waging the same age old battle, a fight for control, but this time, it's different. He isn't trying to tame the demon, in fact now, he only struggles against the man within.

He knows its best to put as much distance between him and his new guest, for her safety. And yet.. something about her calls to him, something that feels ingrained, bone deep, something his mind is quick to describe as betrayal to another. So, he sits, barely moves. He's afraid if he does, his feet will lead him straight to her.

And despite the tenacity of his efforts, they still do.

Having unconsciously associated her with the light of day, and with the lateness of the hour, he hadn't expected to run into her. His mind is focused only on the notion of escaping when he steps through the threshold of the french style doors, and there she is, bathed in the moonlit night. She's leaning against the railing just outside the courtyard doors, her head tilted towards the sky. She's wearing something different, he can only tell by the way they hug the curves of her petite frame.

His movements had been filled with stealth, yet seconds after opening the door, she turns to face him.

"Hello." She says meekly as he says "Sorry." in the same tone. They both smile politely at one another's interruption.

"What for?" She asks after a moment of agreed silence.

He understands her train of thought but is still surprised by her question.

"Disturbing you." He answers simply.

Her smile is warm, and she says, "You're not. And besides, if anyone is the disturbance, it's me."

The earnesty in her voice creates in him, the desire to erradicate the apprehension he can clearly see in her.

"Well I guess no one's bothering anyone then."

His voice is gentle, but its all he says as an acknowledgement of her worry. The entonation of his voice reminds him of the pledge he had made, and it's best if he stops there.

"Good to know."

After a hushed sigh of relief escapes her lips, she asks, "Off to work?"

She's trying to make small talk (which walks the line closely), or she's trying to get to know him (which is far worse), so he knows he should say yes, but instead says, "No. Night off. I was just gonna take a walk."

A slight blush colours her cheeks, and despite its delicateness, he feels warmed by it, so much so, that he forgets to remember what would have caused it.

"Well..." She starts, but then pauses, and he knows she's changed the words on the tip of her tongue, "...Don't let me stop you."

She's giving him an out, one he instantly realizes he's not going to take.

"And you?"

Her forehead creases, and she quickly asks, "Me what?"

Failing to hide her relief at his un-departure.

He smiles again, and he briefly wonders what's causing _that. _Smiling, well hasn't ever really been his thing. Sure, sometimes they'd manage to escape, always during those small mostly happy moments he once had; when he was with _her_, in a graveyard or not, whether it was in response to her wittiness or her love; when he was with his family, the one he'd built and lost in L.A., or the one that grew after he'd lost himself. But those had always taken great effort to produce, not because he didn't feel the need to show them, but because he didn't feel worthy of them. Happiness, especially after really experiencing it, frightened him, and feeling it filled him with guilt. But barely a day, a few moments really, and he'd smiled more than he had in the past 28 years of living here with Willow.

"Well, I know why I'm up at this almost witching hour," his choice of words are dully noted, and he allows himself one small pang of solemnity to fill him, then he continues, "but isn't it kinda late for star gazing?"

"I suppose so." She answers, but after a short pause adds, "No later than it is for a walk, I think though. And actually, I think it's probably a better choice. There's a lotta crazies out there you know."

Her sudden banter is welcomed and refreshing after all the brooding of his day.

"You're not wrong."

He offers a small smile, and once again there's a context in it that has failed to illuminate within her.

"I think I'll be ok. I can handle myself."

Her blush intensifies and after a matching smile, she says incredibly soft, "I don't doubt that."

She probably doesn't intend for him to hear, but he does anyway, and if he could, he'd be red cheeked at her words too.

"I'll be working nights too." She says suddenly, obviously trying to change her train of thought.

"And I figured I should get into the habit of being up at.. witchy hour as you call it."

He feels as if he's been slapped by the memory of a ghost, but he can't go down that road right now, so he asks, "Where at?"

But by the look on her face, realizes that she probably thinks he's being too forward, and remembers how important it is that he not be.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry... I was just.."

"It's a small diner, a few blocks west of here, called Ginger's Corner." She interrupts, her smile genuine and kind, a response to his apology that says, 'it's ok'.

"I know of the place." He answers straightly, trying to ignore the increasing reminders of his past burrowing up, forcing him to say, "Well I should..."

"Go, right. Have a nice walk." She finishes for him, then plasters a smile across her face.

The air grows silent around them, and without an idea of what to say next, she turns back to the railing.

"Would you like to join me?" He asks despite himself.

Despite all the protests raging in his mind against the offer. She turns back around quickly, another smile, this time genuine, brightens her face.

"Sure." She replies.

Once again it's quiet, but this time the air is companionable, and shortly after they walk cross the threshold of the Hyperion she speaks again.

"It's not really that dangerous, right?"

He knows the notion of fear hadn't really crossed her mind until she had mentioned the crazies to him, so he lets loose a small chuckle.

"Don't worry." He starts playfully.

""I'll protect you." He finishes, but as he says the words, he knows that he will.

_**OoO**_

Closing the door of her room, she feels as if she's spent the night floating on a sea of light. During their walk, he shows her all the places she might need, such as a coin operated laundrymat that's open 24 hours, the local library where she can use a computer or read a book (obviously), and a second hand store for neccessities such as clothes or home items.

Oddly enough, he hadn't mentioned any really good restaurants or fair priced grocery stores. But as quickly as the notion fills her mind, it leaves. She's too preocupied with the way her whole body seemed to react to him, the way she felt as if she was on the cusp of a memory when he looked into her eyes.

He hadn't spoken much throughout the course of their walk, but she knew he was there with her. Obviously he was physically, but psychologically as well. She spoke, perhaps too much, especially for someone who had no history to talk of, and only a month or so of experiences to choose from. And when the words had dried up, the silence was welcome as well.

She peels off her jeans, and slides into bed. Her mind churns with the thought of him as she falls asleep.

...

_"He needs me." Her voice is firm, adamant._

_"And so do we. We have a mission, or have you already forgotten your own words?" _

_His voice stings the way it once had, when he'd let his own personal feelings get the best of him. __She thinks about arguing with him, but decides to avoid the waste of energy. They've been friends 8 years now, and she knows the way Xander can be, so she wonders why he can't accept her the way she is, the way she'll always be when it comes to Angel._

_But before she gets a chance to stand by her decision, the person she'd least expected, comes to her aid._

_"The world isn't in peril, Xander. We can manage just fine without Buffy, for the time being." _

_He cleans his lenses in the manner that he always has, and she's never loved Giles more than she does in this moment. _

_"I hope you will, of course, touch base with us, whenever possible?" He says after replacing the frames to his face. _

_"EVERY chance possible." She answers gratefully. _

_"Do you really think you can handle being near him, without wanting more?" Fights Xander's words, and she scowls at him for them, feeling the sudden desire to slap him silly. _

_"I'm not saying I don't trust you. But how clearly do any of us think when we're in love?"_

_These words though, are more reminiscent of the Xander of now, and so her scowl fades away. _

_"He's lost his entire family. I don't think perfect happiness is something any of us need worry about." _

_The softness of Giles' voice gives way to the guilt she hadn't known he felt. For Fred, and his biased mistrust in Angel. _

_He locks eyes with her, and she feels the rift that had developed since his betrayal regarding Spike, dissapear. _

_"Take whatever time you need."_

_..._

_She raps lightly on the door. There is no answer of course, so she doesn't wait to walk in. The room is enveloped in darkness, not even the light of the moon shines in. _

_"They're gone." __She says softly to the unmoving shape sitting on the bed. _

_She can't see a thing of course, not until her eyes adjust, but she's so accostumed to seeing him this way, she even notices the slight sigh that leaves his body at her words. Relief._

_He's been in this comatose state from the moment the battle was over. He'd held himself together until then, there was just too much that needed to be done, and she knew he wouldn't give up until they'd won. And if she'd ever appreciated his will to do what was right, it was during those days. _

_After though, is more of a challenge. While not openly trying to commit suicide, he's still doing his best to get himself killed. Making sure he's inside when the Sun comes up is a daily task, and getting him to feed is nearly impossible. She all but has to force it down his throat. Which might be the most frightening part of it all. _

_In Sunnydale, not once did she ever see him eat. Not even when she knew he was starving. He was too ashamed, and in his eyes, she was too pure to witness his monster. Now, if she isn't there, ensuring he drinks it all, he won't do it on his own. _

_That's why she knows she has to stay. If he's still alive it's because of her. Not her actions exactly (though those do help), but the fact that he cares just enough to remain here, for her. _

_It's not enough, not nearly. She's prepared to do whatever it takes to get him to live for himself again. Even if that means losing him once he decides to leave for her good. While a future without him is a nightmare all on its own, it's still more terrifying to think of what would happen if she left, if she removed herself from the equation while he's as hollow as he is. _

_She's prepared to live without his love around her, but she refuses to live in a world where he doesn't exist. __And that's always been the crux of their relationship. His fate is to live forever, and she'll always be chosen to die. And extraordinarily it's this truth that fuels her determination to stay._

_"You should have..." He starts. _

_"We've already discussed this Angel. I'm. Not. Going. Anywhere. Deal." _

_Truthfully, they hadn't really discussed it so much as she had announced:_

_"I'm staying. And even though you've become Angel Bo-Peepless I have a feeling you probably have something to say about that. And despite how desperately I want you to talk, don't bother trying to argue with me. I'm staying. And that's that."_

_And as predicted, he did talk. _

_"You shouldn't." He had replied simply. _

_After that moment, he starts speaking again, but even so, telling her to go is almost all he says._

_ He looks at her for one more second, and then, even though she sees his eyes, she knows it's not her face he's looking at. _

_She walks over to the curtains, hoping his earlier reaction might allow her to free the windows from their fabric grasp. His eyes react to her movement, but he says nothing, even as she pulls the drapes apart and the light of the sky fills the room, and it's opportunity and hope all at once. She turns back to him, her heart open and honest for him to see. It's not something she's really comfortable doing, but he needs to know. _

_Their eyes find one another, and though she doesn't see it, though it's not exactly real, she feels the spark she's always been able to elicit from him. After a moment, she moves forwards and takes a seat beside him. _

_He doesn't move much, save for the extension of his hand. She takes his quietly, warm entwined with cool, and together they sit in the glow of the moon. Minutes or hours go by she can't tell which, when he turns to look at her, and it's all there. Sorrow, guilt, and shame, she already knows of, but there's also gratitude, relief... love._

_"You should go." He says, and she's about to protest, but he continues instead, "I say the words, and I mean them. I do."_

_He pauses again, and something about the way he speaks keeps her silent. _

_"But if you had walked out that door, I would have begged you to stay."_

_**...**_

"Whoa." She says almost instantly after opening her eyes.

Her dream had been.. intense. She doesn't remember it all exactly, just fighting with a pirate? Or was it just a guy with an eye patch? And then there was the british father figure guy. The only thing unmistakeable from it, was the familiar dark orbs of the man she'd shared a bed with in her reverie. And hadn't she called him Angel?

The remnants of her once vivid dream aren't making much sense, and she dismisses his appearance in it as a coincidence. She believes dreams are a compilation of random files of memory played as one. His face made sense in her dream, since she did after all spend most of the night in his company. And the remembrance puts a smile on her face.

She stretches, finally notices the way the Sun cuts the room in shapes. Getting out of bed, and pulling the curtains open, the room is filled with the light of a late afternoon. Her stomach grumbles in response, and she craves a coffee. After allowing the Sun to briefly illuminate her skin, she goes about getting ready. She has a few hours til her first day of work, and a very small grocery purchase is needed.

She thinks of him, _Angel, _and decides that if she runs into him, she'll ask him to join her.

_..._

By the time she gets back, the sun is getting ready to set. The lobby and courtyard are both quiet, and she frowns at his lack of appearance. Even though he'd said he worked nights, she'd still been dissapointed when she'd emerged from her room and he was nowhere to be seen, like she felt now to get back and still find him missing.

Carrying a paper bag with a few vital necessities, she walks slowly up to her room, in thought, distracted. Her mind is focused on her dream, and the thought of him in it. When she absentmindedly reaches out to open the door and finds it locked, her mind returns to the present.

Looking around, she realizes this isn't her hall. She can't see the elevator from her door...

She looks at the number, and realizes she's on his floor, and her heart starts to flutter as she quietly backs away. She desperately hopes it isn't his door she just tried to open. When she's far enough back she turns around and leaves.

Fleeing and only human, she doesn't hear the subtle steps from the room across her, nor does she notice the sliver of darkness that appears as she moves away...

_**OoO**_

... He watches her raven locks dissapear around the corner as he wonders what led her to that door. Convinced she's gone, he steps out of his room, and pulls out the ring of keys from inside his pocket. He walks towards the door and pauses to place a hand softly on its dark wood. After a few seconds, he removes it to find the right key, and unlocks the door.

Gingerly, he steps inside its threshold, prepared for the wave of anguish that lurks in this room. Years and years and its the same as its always been, years and years have gone by and yet he can't let it go, even though its presence reminds him of the shame he feels at clearing out Willow's room so quickly.

The room no longer carries the aroma it once had, now all he catches is stale air. But the bed is still made, reminding him how in the end she never slept in it. And her shoes still litter the closet floor, and her clothes the few drawers, and her weapons are still held in her magically transported chest.

He sits in the same chair he always did, always has, and relives the past, no matter the pain, nor the damage he willingly inflicts upon himself.

The only time, it happens in this bed.

...

_It's been just over six months since the others left, and while at first he'd been too weary for anything more than amicable pretense, now, after all the time she's spent with him, he's beginning to remember what it feels like to be entangled in the web of her love._

_ It's that look he remembers from the early days in Sunnydale, but recreated. __Eight years stand in between the 16 year old girl she'd been and the woman she is now. __She doesn't hide behind the strength of the Slayer, nor the wit of her tongue. He knows she's seen the sharp edge of life, and has no illusions about a normal life. _

_He's painfully aware of the fragility of human life, the significance of the present moment, and he finally understands that she was never meant for picnics and picket fences. Finally understands that there is darkness in her too._

_He doesn't remember exactly when he started watching her sleep again, but the familiarity of it comforts him. He can almost believe he's back in her old room on Revello Dr., when they'd been filled with illusions of innocence, and naivety regarding the destiny of their budding relationship. When he could almost pretend he was just a man in love with a woman. _

_So one night only a few weeks past, he says the words he hasn't used in years, the ones that never stopped being true. _

_"Angel?" her voice calls out suddenly, but soft with the throes of sleep still on her. _

_Usually he'd see her signs of waking, but he'd been too distracted to notice. When he doesn't reply, she sits up quickly, rubs her eyes and smoothes her tusseled hair. _

_"Is something wrong?" She asks worriedly. _

_He doesn't answer, just continues to stare at her. Whether because of the lack of light, or his bright silence, she mistakes his emotions for sadness, and swings her legs over to the side. _

_He catches a glimpse of her thighs as she shoves the sheets away, dissapearing behind the hem of her nightgown as she stands. The brevity of the exposed skin only intensifies the longing he's felt for some time now, and he feels the final shreds of his resistance cave in under the pressure of his desire. _

_Before she realizes it, he towers before her, so close the coolness of his touch emanates out to her. So much so, that when he finally does reach out and pull her against him, she almost doesn't feel it, except that she does because her skin always burns when he's the one touching her. _

_At first, he simply encompasses her in his arms, his hands tenacious as they roam her back and sides. When he becomes aware of the way her body is responding, touch is no longer enough, so with one hand on her lower back, and the other splayed out over her shoulder blades, he tips her back. He locks eyes with her for one brief second, looking for her acquiescence, then his lips are on hers, and she yields to the demands of his touch._

_ It's not perfect happiness, such a thing will never exist again, but it's not simple solace either. It's a truth he wouldn't allow himself to see, one that now blinds him. _

_Time is scarce, and despite it all, she's here and she's still his girl. And maybe his destiny is simply to make __**her **__happy. _

_**...**_

A dark bitter chuckle escapes him at that notion. Tasting her skin and waking next to her vitality, had filled him with doubt, in a fashion he felt typical of himself, and one he ended up thoroughly regretting. He took days to mull the decision over yet again, convinced he'd find fault in his logic. But he always returned to the same truth, and no longer wanting to fight it, he declared himself within the cover of a tattered book. And of course, she never saw it. The End of Days had rained down on them barely a few days later, and it had all happened so quickly he hadn't gotten a chance to say it.

Sure, she'd been happy because of him, as much as anyone like them can be, for all of a minute.

The only truth left is this: She's dead. And he never will be.

_**OoO**_

_"Say what you will about Buffy. But Angel's about as clueless as a newborn."_

_"That isn't fair!" _

_She fights back at first, but then, relenting, adds, "Ok fine. He can be pretty dense. But he's making progress! He gave her a place to stay, didn't he?"_

_He flashes that know-it-all smile, and says, "And that was pretty much all her own doing. For someone who doesn't remember who she is, she's doing quite well at getting them to their destination point."_

_"Ya well, she always was Miss It's My Way or the Highway. And you have to take into consideration Angel's capacity for self-flaggellation. Things didn't exactly go as they were meant to, what else is he supposed to believe? "_

_"Alright, Alright, Cordy. You have a point. I'll give the guy a break."_

_A third voice interrupts, otherwise occupied but still exasperated by their constant bickering._

_"You two spend way too much time arguing and not enough time helping. Here I am, making sure things are progressing, and you two are acting like we're back at Sunnydale High and you've just broken up."_

_They both turn to look at the still powerful redhead, Xander only smiles and Cordelia says, "Oh, you mean your great cardboard box hint? Like a simple B is enough to wake her from her memory coma. As if she's going to remember Faith's nickname when she dreams of Angel's face and still can't put two and two together?"_

_Willow pouts momentarily, then decides she'll show her if its the last thing she does, and finally says, "Well, it's more than I can say for you."_

_"Ya well, I'm not a higher being like you anymore, there isn't much I can do. Save for a haunting, and I'm not sure that'll work with Angel. He'd probably exorcise me from the place or something."_

_Xander takes this moment to add his two clever cents, "Like I said, clueless."_

* * *

A/N: So that chapter was incredibly difficult to get out, even though I know where i'm going with this. Again, I apologize.

Also, I wasn't expecting to add that last Scooby Gang segment, but I wanted to end the chapter on a better note. Well, and I also had so much fun with their characters in Willow's chapter, so I couldnt help myself.

And in fact, it works with my story. So, that may not be the last time.

Well, I feel more on track now, so I don't expect the next chapter to take as long as this one did.

As always, thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

Please review, feedback is always appreciated!

Thanks!


	10. Chapter VIII: To A Stranger

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Warning: PG13 Language!

This chapter goes out to all you hardcore B/A fans, as all it really is, is budding fluff. haha. You'll see what I mean.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

* * *

**_To A Stranger_**

_Passing stranger! You do not know_  
_How longingly I look upon you,_  
_You must be he I was seeking,_  
_Or she I was seeking_  
_(It comes to me as a dream)_

_I have somewhere surely_  
_Lived a life of joy with you,_  
_All is recall'd as we flit by each other,_  
_Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,_

_You grew up with me,_  
_Were a boy with me or a girl with me,_  
_I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become_  
_not yours only nor left my body mine only,_

_You give me the pleasure of your eyes,_  
_face, flesh as we pass,_  
_You take of my beard, breast, hands,_  
_in return,_

_I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you_  
_when I sit alone or wake at night, alone_  
_I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again_  
_I am to see to it that I do not lose you._

_~Walt Whitman_

_**OoO**_

Somehow... it all works out.

Her job situation starts and progresses rather fluidly. There'd been that hiccup regarding her name, but even that had sorted itself out quickly.

Her boss, whose name turns out to be Darlene, and Summer turns out to be the previous night shift waitress, had brought the issue up shortly after she'd appeared at the diner. They hadn't had a chance to get to that the day before, as Darlene had quickly jumped into the topic of hours and wage, and then sudden customers appeared and Summer had been politely shooed away and told to come back the next night.

"I'm not sure how it happened, but I never got your name, hun." She says with a sweet smile on her face, "I'm Darlene."

She's momentarily frozen, because the only name she's given herself isn't viable, and the only other option that comes to mine is 'Jane', and no way.

"I'm Ahhh..." She starts.

And in that precise moment she's saved by the sudden soft bellow, "Boss!" from someone behind them, and Darlene turns to face whomever it'd been, and then says "Table 5!" and then she's facing Summer once again.

"Sorry. Duty always calls." she apologizes, then asks, "Anne, you said?"

She feels grateful for the sudden interruption and its easiest to just nod in aquiescence, so she does. She's not sure if she's an Anne or not, but its no worse than Summer. Not that Summer is bad either, in fact, she rather likes the idea of belonging to the notions of warm weather and freedom. Its the perfect anti-thesis to her dark hair but also the perfect companion to her light eyes.

She's being paid under the table, so although the last name situation arises, nothing more comes of it. She takes Miller after she eyes a poster for the brewing company, it's not the best but its hardly conspicuous.

Since the diner is only 24 hours on the good nights (Thursday thru Sunday/Monday morning) she has the other three days off. Her shifts start at 10pm and end at 6am so she has no real interaction with the rest of the staff other than her bosses (Darlene and her husband Mark) and those she works with directly.

Weekend nights are pretty good business, so she works with one other waitress named Penny, but once the club rush ends, just after 3am, she leaves. Her features are petite and her blue eyes light, perfectly balancing the bold toughness of her short white blond bob and the small bullring piercing in her nose. She's outspoken but kind, easy going in a way that makes Summer feel comfortable and helps her navigate the trade and tricks of the graveyard shift.

They serve while a guy named Sam, serves as cook in the kitchen. He's older than them, by about 10 years or so. His hair has prematurely peppered, but oddly, it doesn't age him as much as it works for him. He's carefree and witty, and even if she hadn't found out from Penny that he was the perpetual bachelor type, she would have realized it quickly. He's charming and debonair, in the way that he knows it and works it to his advantage.

"Don't worry though. Aside from the fact that he's more into cougars than kittens, he never shits where he eats." Penny tells her as well.

"He's a good guy despite his man-whoreness. Plus, he knows his way around a joke, and he makes a mean hamburger. Delish. I mean it."

It'd only taken her break, and the rest of that first night for her to agree.

**OoO**

He emerges from the confines of the room once he's sure she's left the building. Like the air in that space, he feels emotionally stale in these moments, and he isn't ready to risk a chance encounter just yet. As usual, he locks up after he exits, protecting his past and his precious behind a silver key.

Having already missed a night of patrol, he heads directly towards the lobby and out the courtyard doors. It's not until he momentarily wages with the street front exit that he realizes he must do something about them. Anyone off the street could (and has, really) waltz right into his home.

It never mattered before, because when Willow had lived here with him, the exterior of the Hotel had been in mint condition, mainly because her magic had made it so. But when she dissapeared (he can only think of it in those terms), it had all gone with her.

The interior changed as well, but only slightly. There'd been no real damage within its walls these past 100 years, and all that really shows now, is its age. He isn't really surprised by all this though, the simple mundane spells that carry no real power tend to fade away once the source, in this case Willow, is gone.

It still wouldn't matter if it were just him, but it isn't. There's a human living here now, unaware to the dangers that lurk around her. He's doing his part by maintaining a safe distance, but seeing the shape the exits currently are in, he knows he can make her that much more safe simply by fixing them. It won't take that much effort to accomplish, and he can easily work in the dark (he always does). So, he decides to forego one more patrol, and heads back inside to get his supplies.

...hours later...

It's been years, decades, since Angel's resolve has faltered. Usually, when he makes up his mind, there's next to nothing anyone, himself included, can do to change it. Her death is all the proof he's needed, and it's been the cement that's held his guilt and self-loathing together for the past 100 years. But now, he's breaking it.

Stay away, he'd told himself, and eventually, she'll go on her way. They always did. Cordelia, when he'd pushed her into the Groosalug's arms. Nina, just before the war on Wolfram and Hart. Buffy, the first time he left. Or so he thought, anyways. She was perhaps the only real exception.

It's morning, and the sun is on its way up into the sky, and he sits in the faded red chair, a book in his hands, waiting for her. He tells himself it's only to give her the keys to the newly renovated doors. But now that she's walking through the arch, he acknowledges the fact that he could have just left them under her door.

He closes the book softly, and since she's distracted by the work he's done over the night, he waits for her attention.

"Nice work." She says once she's looking at him, and points towards the doors.

"Thanks." He answers simply.

"I can't believe you did that all at night. Wasn't it hard to see?" Her voice is filled with curiosity.

He hadn't expected that, so he doesn't respond for a moment, but then he clears his throat and says, "Luckily, I have some floodlights."

It's not exactly true, but it's better than the actual truth.

"I see." She answers softly, nodding her head at the same time.

Before the encroaching lack of conversation arrives she says, "What a way to pass your night off."

An extremely small smile finds its way onto his face because of all the ways he could spend his night, doing work on the Hotel scores much higher than many of the other possibilities.

"It happens. This place always needs some care it seems. And well, I wanted..." He nearly blurts out the real reason he'd done the work, but his words drift off instead because telling her 'I wanted to make you safe' hardly seems like a good idea.

"You wanted...?" She prompts.

The eagerness in her manner of speaking allow him to come to his senses, so he doesn't answer immediately, just stands, the book held firmly in his left hand, and takes a few steps forward.

"To get it done already." He says.

He holds out his free hand, and there is a small key ring in it.

"These are for you. One is for the gate, and the other for the inner door."

She reaches out to get it, walking down the steps to land parallel with him, but before she's close, he says, "Catch."

He tosses the keys gently, and even though his aim is perfect, she fumbles when they hit her fingers.

Her face says it all, he can tell she finds his actions odd, but even so she just says, "Thank you."

For the first time, the accompanying silence between them is awkward.

She begins to fidget so he says, "How was your first day of work?" His voice, hushed, timid.

"Pretty good. Kind of quiet, except for the after-party rush. The people I work with are really nice."

Her voice is casual and friendly, and he can tell she's trying to remedy the situation. If the air weren't filled with tension, he might have smiled at her for it.

"That's always good." He offers simply.

Deciding it best to end the conversation here, before things get more awkward or worse, complicated, he says, "Well, you must be tired, and i'm pretty beat too, so I'll see you around."

He steps backwards towards the stairs as she says, "Ok." the words clearly marred by disillusion.

"See you." Is all she finishes with as he vanishes out of sight.

He immediately feels bad about bolting the way he does, but knows it's something he has to do.

**Oo****O**

On her way to work, she opens the stairwell door nearly colliding with his tall dark mass. Instantly, his eyes are on her and a rush of warmth runs through her.

"Sorry." She says reflexebly.

"No need." He replies, and she smiles gratefully.

After a few seconds of quiet, he asks nonchalantly, "Heading to work?"

"I am. And you?"

A smirk on his face, he says, "Same."Then he sweeps his hand forward, "After you." His voice impossible to decifer.

She replies with a smile, and together they fall into step and walk down the stairs.

The next couple of weeks bring only a series of intermittent happy accidents such as this. While they are few and far between, and even with the little he usually says, unless they're on what she'd call a 'safe topic', such as books, the hotel or the city, major news stories, things of that nature, she comes to understand a few things about him.

It's clear to her that he isn't particularly interested in disclosure. All she knows about the man she shares a living space with is his name, that he works in security, and he has an affinity for books. She has no basis for comparison, but she still feels like he's the most complex person she's ever met. Even with how blase he always is, she can still see that below the surface, there is more going on than she might ever comprehend.

Neither ever mention the past, her because she has none to speak of, and him, well... enough said.

She's just woken from a dream-filled slumber. They've been continuous from her first night in the Hyperion, and although she can't grasp them entirely after, they comfort her immensly because their presence seem to her as shadows of memories that do in fact exist, and are merely locked away until she finds the key.

She never thinks much of the fact that he, Angel, appears in them almost religiously. His is the only face clear in her dreams, and it makes sense to her since the only thing that fills her mind aside from her unknown past, and the trivialities of her present day life, is him. It's not just the mystery that surrounds him, nor the kindness he's shown her that's intrigued her. There's something fragile about him that doesn't seem natural, and she wants nothing more than to ease it away.

Of course, the level of separation between them has yet to be a bridge she's able to pass. And the dejavu of this feeling complicates her already confusing thoughts.

Stretching in bed, she sees that the sun is low in the sky, and there are only a few hours until night approaches. It's a Monday afternoon, and though it's her night off she'll stay up late. It's her night of transition, an attempt to seem like a normal person, with normal hours Tuesday through Wednesday.

She showers and dresses quickly. In a pale blue A-line cotton dress and her hair a long braid down her back, she heads out into the still muggy late afternoon. She decides its far too humid out for the walk she had planned, so she decides to head down to the street front shops, and do some window shopping, though, she's mostly looking from within than from without.

As she exits a small antiques store, she eyes a bookstore across the street. Whether because books remind her of him, or because she's decided she wants one of her very own, she goes inside.

There isn't much daylight within, and the artificial lighting isn't very bright, but the place is cozy and quaint. All the bookcases, tables and chairs are dark oak wood, and there are books littered across almost every surface. She smiles politely at the clerk behind the desk, then begins to wander around.

Eventually she finds herself strolling the Poetry section, and when her eyes flit over 'The Portuguese' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, she pulls it out and begins skimming through the pages. It's familiar though it really shouldn't be, and she finds herself loathing these little complexities of hers. The feeling of familiarity hangs around her like a bubble that never pops, the rush of memory and remembrance held prisoners within its glassy globe.

After a few minutes of this endless merry-go-round, a dark shadow passes by her, distracting her from the oddly remembered words. The bookcase in front of her is about a foot shorter than her, and after turning up, she realizes quickly that the shadow is merely a person walking down the next aisle. Her head turns up in their direction briefly, but she quickly loses interest in the woman browsing ahead of her. She would have returned to the book in her hands, if she hadn't caught sight of him as she surveyed the room.

He too seems to be looking for something, his fingers delicately skimming the shelves and spines as he searches. Her heart flutters responsively, her cheeks picking up a bright tint. He pulls out a small book and opens it, but then suddenly his head turns in her direction. She quickly ducks down, though she doesn't know why, since she's been hoping for an opportunity, such as this, to create a real encounter with him, like the one that morning weeks ago. What had once been a flutter in her heart, is now a stammer, and the seconds tick by. After what she considers to be enough time, she peaks over the top of the unit. But of course, he's nowhere to be seen.

Her shoulders sink, and her eyes return to the book in her hands. Though it still appeals to her, she puts it back. Afterall, the desire to find him, is much greater. She turns around to heed the call, when she jerks back in response to his presence right in front of her.

"Hello Summer." He says, and there's this wonderful curious, small, always small, smile on his face, and if spirits ever soared, hers did in that moment.

"Hello Angel." She replies, and the combination of the low level of volume they're using due to the ambiance of the place, and saying his name is much more intimate than she ever expected it could be.

Trying to seem nonchalant despite the jumble that are her nerves, she points to the books at his side and asks, "Find anything good?"

"I found something I haven't read in... years, so I think I did good."

"Don't people usually buy books they haven't read before?" She teases, temporarily distracted from her thoughts by his words, while also hoping it might propel him to tell her a little about himself.

"Most probably." He plays along, "But there's little out there worth reading that I haven't already read. Most modern literature leaves something to be desired."

She's about to ask what he means by that, when he continues, "What about you? No luck yet?"

He seems genuinely interested and his forthcomingness to speak is already overwhelming, so she answers honestly, "I'm not really sure what I'm looking for."

"Well I'm a literature aficionado, I'm sure I can help you find something you'll like. That is, if you want me to."

He seems doubtful that she'll accept so she decides to reassure him, "That'd be great. I trust you."

From the look on his face, she amends, "Your judgement. I've seen some of your collection after all."

Whatever had played on his face is gone all of a sudden, and then his voice is casual as he says, "Well let's start with the basics."

"Ok." She replies happily.

"Fiction, or Non-fiction?"

They peruse almost every genre in the fiction realm, save for horror, because she works nights and reading them during the day seems illogical; and romance, because she has her very own story playing out, and besides, romance novels and discussing them with an actual man seems like an embarassment she'd rather not face.

They maintain a safe distance the entire time, not just physically, but in the conversation as well. It's light and superficial, and it leaves her craving for more, as if getting to know him is crucial in some way she hasn't yet discovered.

To his obvious surprise, she picks out Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. It's a novel he's familiar with, and it's the story of a woman who quickly catches Summers attention. Despite not knowing the entire plot, she quickly connects with the various themes of it.

To her amusement, he picks out The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams for her. He hadn't read much in the genre, but it was a classic in its own right and he'd come across it, and he thought she might appreciate the immediately obvious comedic approach of it.

The Sun still permeates the sky when she's ready to leave. Her assumption that he's going to accompany her falls flat when he says out of the blue, "I just remembered there was something else I wanted. I'll see you later, at the Hyperion."

Startled, she begins, "I can wait..."

He shakes his head, and says, "It's alright. It might take a while, and you said you were hungry."

She was, slightly, but she had only mentioned it hoping they might do dinner together.

"Ok." She finds herself saying again.

"Thanks again for the book, and the lesson. It was fun."

"No problem."

His smile is polite, his tone one a stranger would use. Though, on some level, she supposes he still is.

"See you around, Summer." He says, and turns away, her faint 'Bye' lost in the commotion of his departure.

...

This second breach of contract, had been pure weakness. Despite what she probably thought, he'd caught sight of her long before she had of him. The gust of air that had followed her in had pretty much assaulted his vampire sense of smell.

Then, he caught sight of her; the boatneck cut of her dress, her hair pulled back exposing the curve of her neck and the line of her collerbone, the way she focused on the book in her hands, was all it took to keep him from running away. When she'd hid from his sight, instead of coming to his senses, it only magnified his need for more.

Captivated by her innocent sweetness, and his love of literature, his many reservations sunk into the depths of his mind througout the duration of their interlude. It took the physicality of the Sun to bring him back to reality, and the way a cat bolts at a sudden noise, so had he.

He leaves in the same moment she does, encased in the depth of the sewers, his footsteps unheard echoes to her own. By the time they arrive at the Hyperion, the Sun has finalized its descent, and he exits the foul stench of the underground and heads into the basement of the Hotel.

For long moments, he stands there silently, listening to the tread of her feet above him. As the combination of solitude and his racing mind grow, he realizes now, how dangerous that encounter had been. He already feels lighter than he has in a very long time, because of it. And he'd have to be blind (and deaf) not to notice the way she reacts to him.

He never expected to feel the pull towards another human being ever again. But it's there, the spark in the dormant volcano that doesn't beat within his chest. It cannot yet be described as love, whatever it is that he is feeling, but he knows one thing for sure; he longs to explore the uncharted territory of her skin, to feel her texture underneath the tips of his fingers.

Frightened by this and by the desire to head upstairs, he takes off back through the sewers, and heads out into the evening air. Now more than ever, he needs the clarity only a night of patrol, of slaying his kin, can bring him.

During the following couple of weeks, struggling to be careful, he manages to avoid her completely. After their shared moment in the bookstore, he finds that even their accidental run-ins now are too dangerous to risk. He returns to his ordinary schedule with veracity, pretending not to notice the reappearance of his numbness, nor the loathing he feels at his resumed and uninterrupted routine.

If, once upon a time, Angel sometimes spent his mornings and afternoons in idleness, he no longer did. No matter the hour, he preoccupies himself with some task, desperately clinging to the distraction it offers. When entrapped by the rays of the Sun and stifled by the confines of his room, he works on the upper floors of the hotel since the lobby is common ground. In fact it is here, where he never suspects an encounter to take place, that she finds him.

He's just starting the first coat of paint, the roller gripped in his hands as he moves it up and down along the wall. His back is to the door she stands at, so he doesn't catch her mesmerized gaze as it too follows his movement.

When he finally drops it back into the dispenser filled with paint, he becomes aware of her presence. After all the time that's passed since he's seen her, the rush of gratitude that surges at his failed awareness is bright within him.

He turns to her, catching the look in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks, but doesn't understand what's caused them until he remembers that he's clad only in a pair of pants and a ribbed white undershirt, and then he realizes it's the exposure of his skin that has her heart pounding within her chest.

"Want some help?" She asks a little too quickly.

Unable to deny it, a smirk forms on his face. He knows he should say no, knows he should send her on her way, but he can't. Despite his many efforts and the vast size of the Hyperion, here they are.

It could be the lack of human interaction he's had these past two weeks, or that he's just too tired to keep on fighting what seems inevitable, but what it really comes down to, bottom line: it's how much he likes being with her. Not in a romantic sort of way, but simply as a connection to humanity, the only chance he might have left.

"I wouldn't mind." He finally says.

Her response is a vivid smile, followed by an, "I'll be right back. Gonna put on something a little more paint friendly!" and without another word she dashes out of the room.

He decides to ignore his still ever-present qualms, and see this moment through. Besides, all they'll be doing is painting, and he has more than enough experience under his belt to keep the conversation in shallow waters. After today, he thinks he might be able to maintain a steady friendship with her.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

* * *

A/N: See what I mean? I love me some fluff. haha

This chapter was really about establishing a relationship between Summer and Angel, not plot heavy I know, but crucial nonetheless. I only just delved into the work thing, but that'll be coming more into play within the next chapter.

Ok, as always, thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

Please review, feedback is always appreciated!

Thanks!


	11. Chapter IX: Her Kind

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Warning: Adult themes and PG13 Language

Sorry this took so long!

Thanks for reading!

* * *

CHAPTER 9

_**Her Kind**_

_I have gone out, a possessed witch,  
haunting the black air, braver at night;  
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch  
over the plain houses, light by light:  
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.  
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.  
I have been her kind._

_I have found the warm caves in the woods,_  
_filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,_  
_closets, silks, innumerable goods;_  
_fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:_  
_whining, rearranging the disaligned._  
_A woman like that is misunderstood._  
_I have been her kind._

_I have ridden in your cart, driver,_  
_waved my nude arms at villages going by,_  
_learning the last bright routes, survivor_  
_where your flames still bite my thigh_  
_and my ribs crack where your wheels wind._  
_A woman like that is not ashamed to die._  
_I have been her kind._

~Anne Sexton

The Sun hangs low in the sky, and she walks without aim, without purpose. She hates these long lonely hours of the day, after she's woken from the haze of black tar he unleashed through her veins. Her fingers and feet fidget, she thinks of their own accord, as she waits for night, her next dose, and invariably, for him. Sometimes she worries he's her real addiction, and not the drugs he gives her.

But then again, she remembers, he's the only reason she's still alive.

She met him the night Audrey had selfishly abandoned her, and for the first time in her horrible life, she truly felt alone. While it was true that she had been warned that it would happen if she didn't smarten up, she never thought her best friend would ever really leave. But she had.

Enraged, heartbroken and afraid, she drank and drugged the feelings away at some party her dealer had lead her to. It seemed to her at first, a party much like any other, perhaps a little more remote and smaller than usual, and a higher availability of illegal substances.

She'd been too out of it to notice the black paint covering the windows, or the locks bolting them shut; hadn't noticed the eyes following her and the others (that were intoxicated) every move.

She doesn't know if it was the cut of her dress on her curves, or the depth of the need visible in her eyes that reeled him in that fateful night, but he spared her.. saved her, she means... and the others... well there was nothing she could do about them now.

He took her under his wing. She let him even though a part of her told her she shouldn't, because she knew that alone, she wouldn't last a week. Her whole life, she always depended on someone else. First it'd been Parker, her big brother, but he was gone.

Audrey had filled his spot when they ran away together, their houses not exactly the homes they were supposed to be. Audrey was all the things she wasn't, confident, careful and street-smart. If it hadn't been for her, they wouldn't have found a safe place to sleep most nights, or manage to feed themselves daily.

But then, she let herself wander, straying into the crowd Audrey had always disdained, and she couldn't stop herself. They gave her pills and powder that made all the terrors of her past go away, and she refused to let the freedom go. So, Audrey left. And he found her.

He gives her what she wants without reproach, and more importantly, he takes care of her, and that's all that matters to her. And he needs her too. And it feels nice to be needed and wanted, and safe and taken care of, and it's enough conviction to allow her mind to deny the truth of what she's really doing.

The slight chill in the air reminds her of the encroaching night, and she shakes her thoughts off, focusing instead on her whereabouts. She's closing in on a busy main street the opposite from where he is, and just as she's about to turn around, she catches glimpse of a familiar face across the street, so she stops. The woman's hair is uncharacteristically pulled back, and so there is no mistaking her.

"Audrey?" She whispers aloud, though she isn't speaking to anyone other than herself.

The girl takes no notice of her as she continues to walk in her direction, but just before she's about to pass her though, Audrey (and she knows for sure it is) turns left down an intersecting street.

Instinctively she quickly crosses the street after her. The mild traffic puts a nice gap between the two, as she follows her former friend.

As she walks, she wonders how it is, that now that she isn't looking for her anymore, Audrey is suddenly so easily found. She looks different... healthier... better. The realization of this burns red hot within her, ignites again the resentment she'd so recently forgotten.

She follows until Audrey walks into a small diner. As she continues to walk closer, she sees her slip in behind the counter.

'Ah, so she works here', she thinks.

Passing the place called Ginger's Corner, heading back towards him, she smiles.

_**OoO  
**_

The diner is busier than usual. Well, she's starting a whole lot ealier, covering for Penny, who has a hot date, well anniversary dinner, with that boyfriend of hers, so really, it probably doesn't seem that way to anyone else. As she heads to the back, she thinks it'll be weird leaving at three in the morning, wonders if perhaps she ought to take a taxi home; wonders if she might run into him when she gets there. She smiles at the thought, then shakes her head slightly.

"Focus." She whispers to her reflection in the mirror in the small staff room.

After a beat, she heads out towards the front. It takes her a while to get into flow with everyone, to adjust to the pace of the dinner rush. By the time Penny and Sam get in, the diner is quiet again. The last waitress left aside from herself, a girl named Sandra, is already getting ready to leave.

Darlene is gone, and Mark is in the kitchen prepping for Sam, so she mans the diner for a moment, alone. It's ok though, because there are only a couple of patrons left. A couple in a booth near the back, a group of teenagers in the same area, and a couple of guys drinking coffee at the counter. She's just checked on everyone, and so she takes a moment to lean against the counter, far enough away from the men with their cups.

"Boo!" She jerks in startlement to the abrupt sound, and the fingers on her back.

She knows who it is and so she turns to the voice with a midly peeved smile on her face, and says, "Very funny."

Penny too has a big grin as she replies, "I thought so." Then nudges her softly.

In the short span of time that she's worked there, she's become really close with Penny and Sam. On her off days they sometimes hang out, always on Monday nights they go out pubbing together.

Sometimes she almost invites Angel, but always decides against it. For one, the teasing from Sam and Penny would never end, and the idea of having him endure that is unimaginable. And secondly, she's not sure Pubs are really his thing. Despite his youth, there's something incredibly mature about him, and she just can't imagine him having a good time with a bunch of cougars and boozers.

So she keeps those nights strictly work-friendly.

"How was dinner?" She asks after a moment.

"Great actually. He romanced me; flowers, wine, the whole she-bang." Penny lets herself visibly deflate then continues, "and now I get to come back here and spend the entire night working."

She shrugs, "You win some. You lose some."

Then giving Penny a soft pat on the back, she adds finally, "Do me a favour? Check on the kids will you? Please? I'm gonna take my break and I don't want them to stiff me."

Penny nods glumly, then says, "Touche" and drags her feet away.

After a few steps, she spins around and adds, "You know because of the winning and the losing, and having to go tend to the rude little monsters they call teens these days."

She lets out a small chuckle, "I got it." she answers with a grin.

_**OoO**_

He exits his room and heads down to the lobby just after the moon has taken over. Before he appears in it though, he takes a moment to slide the palm of his hand down his hair, and shake his shoulders to adjust his coat, but then he catches himself, shakes his head, and walks out of the staircase.

However, she's nowhere to be seen and he knows she won't be found because she isn't here. How he knows this, he naively gives credit to the nature of his condition and nothing more.

While still oblivious to the depth of his own feelings, he does come to realize that something in him has shifted, like a fragment of the old him, has come back. The Angel who saw possibility in the future, not the one he's been this past century, who could only perceive eternity as a penance for his many sins. And he knows she's the main reason why. He isn't stupid enough to deny that, though he isn't wise enough to realize that it isn't because she's breaking the ice (so to speak) and re-integrating him into the world of the living, as he's managed to convince himself, but because he's allowed himself to _feel _for her, in the way that's more, the way Angel hasn't felt in a long time.

In the span of ten decades, he let himself fall only when he was too weak to push through. Stubborn to a fault, Angel refused the idea of another; it felt too much like walking away, and he'd promised never to make that mistake again. But, he's never claimed to be perfect, in fact, he's far far from it. And he isn't strong, not anymore. So, he took comfort in the arms of a willing woman as a means of escape.

To be accurate, there'd only been two women, and well... there'd also been that one time with Willow after Xander's death.. but that'd been more about her pain than his own.

Despite the way it may have looked, it wasn't that he desired either of them that lead him to do it, he'd simply been compounded by the death of yet another of his loved ones, and he was already weak. The first time had been shortly after Giles' death, and the second, well it _had _officially started the night of Dawn's funeral, but the intention had begun months before. Though, he attempts to forget that part.

They both had been slayers. In fact, it was that aspect, the slayer power he could feel emanating from them, that created the opportunity to lose himself in the familiarity of it. He let himself escape into the way they felt; small and soft, yet lethal, a feeling so much like Buffy, he could almost pretend they were her.

These escapades never lasted though because eventually he'd remember that they _weren't _her. He didn't truly care for them, he would never be able to, and more importantly, he wouldn't ever _want _to.

He shakes his head yet again, dispelling the memories from his mind. He tries not to think of the cause of their reappearance, because if he does, he thinks they might lead him to make yet another mistake in a moment of weakness, and he's not ready to push her (Summer) away just yet.

He heads straight out the back doors, resorting to the only effective form of distraction, and focus, he knows.

_**OoO**_

He wakes just after the moon has risen in the sky. Though usually well fed, he feels the beginnings of the pangs of hunger, creating a deep scowl on his still human face. She hasn't been keeping up her side of the deal, and because he has an unexplainable soft spot for her, he's been cutting her some slack. However, if he feels hunger, then the others must as well, and hunger is weakness, and he refuses to let an insignificant human tarnish his reputation, nor his position.

He storms out of his room with ire in his steps, and when he realizes she's not back yet, the feelings swell within him. The other 3, his fledglings, know better than to get in his way, and so they stay quiet, keep to the corners of the room. He's much older than them, fiercer and more cunning, and so really, his fears of being overthrown, are unnecessary. But it's a dangerous world out there these days, especially for his kind.

Ten minutes have gone by when he hears the clack of her heels on the sidewalk. The speed of her steps help maintain his rage, but then she bursts through the door, the quick pace of her heart, the miles of exposed legs and the fear painted on her face and some of that anger turns into desire. However, feeling the need to maintain appearances, he quickly storms over to her, yanking her by the arm towards him.

"Where were you?" He demands, and though the words aren't loud, they're still forceful enough to send a quiver down her spine.

"Nowhere..." She begins, but by the look of disbelief on his face she quickly adds, "I was looking for another hit."

He laughs then, but the sound isn't friendly.

"You know I don't like being kept waiting." He says after.

Hand still wrapped around her forearm, he pulls her towards the stairs leading to the upper floor, and lets go when they're standing at the foot of them.

She looks up at him, her gaze still drenched in fear, and it only delights the predator in him.

"Up." He demands.

She only nods, and starts walking up the steps tentatively, her head peering back at him every so often.

He turns to the others, "If you'll excuse me." he says simply.

Then, he's moving up after her, shoving her into the room as he quickly catches up with her. The door slams behind him.

She cowers before him, but doesn't move away. He stalks towards her until he's only inches away, and then she is moving back, his own steps forcing her to until she's pinned between him and the wall behind her.

"You've never been late." He says finally.

She opens her mouth to reply, but he hushes her by putting his fingers over her lips.

"And you're always looking for another hit, so don't give me that. Where were you?" He asks again, somehow more forcefully than before.

"I was following someone." She says after he moves his hand, her voice laced with guilt.

A smirk finds itself on his face, "And who is that?" he asks.

A sliver of her previous loyalty brings her to pause for a moment, but then he's pressing her against the wall, and his cool hand is on her thigh, his thumb slipping under the hem of her skirt, and it's all forgotten as she quickly answers, "Audrey."

His fingers still for a second, recognizing the name. He knows all too well of her, being privy to most if not all of Cecilia's history. In fact, if the sudden (and lucky, he might add) appearance of Audrey's nurse hadn't interrupted him, she'd be nothing more than another Jane Doe right now. Instead, he has to deal with this.

Truth be told, he likes the convenience of having a human girl tend to him. She can move around in the day, satisfy his needs at night, and if he's ever peckish, she can give him a drink. And this particular one delights him with the way she drips with fear and need, of him, for him, and well also the drugs, but even that comes from him.

And then, there's the new game he's invented. She's not very good at it yet, but it's thrilling and new, and it's a nice change from the same old hunt and kill of decades gone by.

He smiles seductively, aware that she's still waiting for his reply.

"I thought you didn't care about that _putana _anymore." He says finally, his fingers picking up pace, moving upwards, again.

"I don't." She answers quickly, though the words come out like a huff.

"She abandoned you." He continues.

He's playing it up, and though he'd known she was in the hospital, he'd never tell Cecilia about that. This one, is his. At least, until he's done with her.

"And I take care of you, make sure you have everything you need, and you leave me hanging to follow her?" He makes his words sound like they hurt, and he manages something of a pout.

"I just wanted to know where she lived!" She blurts out quickly, her hand racing to cup the side of his face.

When his eyes lock onto hers, her hand drops, "I thought maybe you..." she trails off, and suddenly her cheeks burn red.

And then he remembers exactly why he likes her. Eyes still gazing into hers, he moves slowly and places a soft kiss on her neck.

"She should join our game." He says after a pause, his hands hoisting her thighs up, her body firmly pinned, and her legs hook around him.

_**OoO**_

She can't think let alone talk, and she knows he only needs a yes to procede, and so she just nods vigorously. After he's had his way with her, she'll remember that, no, she didn't want to play the game with Audrey. She had only wanted to prove that she'd won, that she was perfectly fine, and better, without her too.

But then she'll remember that there isn't another choice, not anymore.

_**OoO **_

"Sam and I have agreed, that because you're the lucky one leaving in half an hour, you get the tramps walking in right now."

Penny's voice is hushed, and her eyes are trained on the entrance behind her. However, Summer doesn't turn.

"Oh, so tomorrow I get to pass them off to you before you leave then?" She asks instead, both her face and tone mocking.

Penny, as expected, is in no way derailed.

"Of course not. Today is special because Sam has to put up with me for two more hours because of you, his words not mine, and because well, it's my anniversary and you get to leave two hours before me." She replies seriously, though Summer knows she's not really being so.

"Ya well, Sam can deal, and you had a big fancy dinner because of _me, _not to mention _you _asked _me _to switch." Her tone also serious, since she's playing along too.

"Details, details." Penny says, waving it off, her hand swaying casually.

She doesn't say anything, just stands, a smile on her face. She finally turns around, and looks back! seeing three girls, dressed like they just finished a shift at an actual corner.

'Not so bad' she thinks and turns back to her friend, "Fine. But you owe me, especially if they don't tip well."

"Deal." Penny offers brightly.

She just can't stand those floozies, and only partly because girls like them are part of her boyfriend's working environment.

"Oh." Summer says suddenly, before walking away, "You have to get Sam to make me a couple of burgers, with fries and the whole she-bang, to take home, no questions asked."

Penny puffs up in surprise for only a second, until she says the last part, and then deflates.

"From me too?" She asks timidly.

Summer smiles sardonically, stepping backwards when she answers, "Especially from you."

_**OoO**_

It's just after midnight when he hears his first scrap of potential information. Sitting at the bar at one of his preferred demon pubs, he overhears a conversation between two vampires sitting in a booth behind him. His attention is only caught because one of them, the female, utters a familiar name.

"This is no lame-ass Dracula thrall."

The vampire with her just scoffs, and she goes on, "Really, it's just manipulation combined with the fact that she's something of a junkie, but still, I've seem him at work, and trust me, it's a thing of beauty."

Angel can hear the delight in her voice, and although he doesn't know the entirety of what she's talking about, he still feels disgust.

"Whatever. I don't see what the big deal is, he has some human floozie drug addict fetch him dinner, so what? If you ask me, the thrill isn't in the feeding, it's in the catching. The way their fear and adrenaline flavours their blood... it's simply delicious."

He has to reel himself in after the male's words, remind himself that he'll get to take these two out, it's just a matter of when. For now, he needs to listen, and remain unnoticed.

"That's exactly it, dumbass." She replies.

There's a moment of silence, but the male says nothing. Eventually, she continues.

"It's all just a big lovely game of cat and mouse, only the mouse thinks it's special, thinks it's safe. And so, not only does the cat get to gorge on the prey brought to him, he gets to play and nibble on the little mouse too. And the best part? The mouse knows exactly what the cat does to its friends, and it continues to bring them willingly. Say what you will about the mediocrity of the mouse, but the cat... ingenious."

"Sure it's all pretty badass, but the slayers will catch up to Markus eventually." The male says after a few seconds.

"Man, you really are a newbie aren't you? It's exactly why he _won't _get caught. The slayers are too busy looking for _vamps _and _demons _up to no good, not humans. Especially, not Markus' bimbo junkie. It's so perfect, I think you and I need to jump on the bandwagon. I'm sick and tired of working the less obvious spots, the boring prey."

"It's why we're still alive. Being the undead, ain't exactly what it used to be. I may be only a few decades old, but you seem to forget that very few make it that far anymore. Markus may be ancient and ingenious, but he's also just been lucky. If it isn't the slayers who find him, it'll be the traitor."

This time, it is her who scoffs.

"Oh please. That one stopped being a problem once The Slayer died. If you ask me, he's doing us a favour. If you're dumb enough to get nabbed by an unimaginative, guilt ridden vampire with a soul and a broken heart, who not to mention seems mostly apathetic to it all, then I say, good riddance."

Before Angel has a chance to react, as every fiber in his being awakens to the slight, the male speaks.

"How the hell do you know all that?"

"Markus... duh."

Her voice is tinted with sarcasm, "He's not quite as ancient, but he was around during those days. And Angelus? Let's just say, Eunuch."

Having heard enough, Angel reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a couple of bills and places them on the bar. He downs the remains of amber liquid in his glass, and slowly spins around towards the table.

"Ok, now it just got personal."

_**OoO**_

He waits.

The others hover around excited with the promise of a warm meal, but him, he sits, and he waits. There is a dark and frightening smile on his face, and it keeps the three other vampires from including him in their games of drink and play. They know better than to interrupt his pre-game ritual.

Despite what they must think, he enjoys these moments of anticipation. And tonight, there is the added bonus of the prey that got away and so he smiles.

And he waits.

_**OoO**_

She hardly remembers the hours she spends inside the noisy and crowded club, but she isn't worried, and she doesn't want to bogart her high, so she focuses instead on how well she did tonight.

Somehow, she'd scored two, and they weren't entirely a mess. Though she's suddenly pleased with the opportunity to sober them up a little before taking them back to him. She smoothes out her hair before stepping into the small, nearly bare diner. She sees Audrey's dark locks quickly, the braid cascading down her back. She turns away and shuffles the two girls to a booth in the back, careful to chose a spot where she can see the whole place before her.

She's barely in her seat when Audrey's green orbs are peering down at her, her arm outstretched and a menu in her hand. There isn't an inkling of recognition, good nor bad, in Audrey's face; it's just a bland, complete stranger kind of look, and it's entirely unexpected. So, it takes Cecilia a moment to reach out and gingerly take the offered menu.

"Good evening ladies. Can I start by offering you something to drink?"

One of the girls opens her mouth to talk when Cecilia quickly speaks instead, "Audrey?"

Again, there is no awareness in the girl standing before her. She just turns her head and looks behind her, her own eyes following, and other than the other customers there is no one, and she quickly turns back around.

"You know me?" Audrey asks softly.

And even though she's intoxicated, the choice of words goes noticed, as well as the timid approach of them. She'd expected more of an awkward, and uncomfortable type of encounter, not to mention, being recognized herself. They'd been best friends for years, after all.

Surprised, her tone is soft as well, "Of course I do. You're Audrey and I'm Cecilia, we went to school together? Don't _you _know _me_?"

She doesn't say anything at first, just clutches her pen and notepad tightly. She turns her head around again quickly and then back. She looks around at the table, at the other two girls, and then at her again.

"It's kind of a complicated issue." She says finally. "Let me get you guys some water, and I'll be right back."

The whole situation is just strange, and she feels the pair of eyes around her bearing down on her, so she just nods. Audrey walks away.

"What was that all about?" Says the short plump blonde to her right.

Wanting to keep the mood light, and their minds high, she smiles and starts, "Sounds like someone's had a line or two.."

As hoped, the two blondes just laugh, and resume their previous conversation of recounting all the free drinks they got that evening. Cecilia plasters a smile onto her face, but she isn't really paying attention. Her eyes are focused on the swinging door Audrey has dissapeared behind.

She doesn't really understand what just happened, but she focuses on the feeling that it has something to do with her. The way Audrey kept looking backwards, making sure no one was there, as if she didn't want anyone to see them talking.

Sure, she was used to the looks others gave her sometimes, used to the judgements, but coming from _her_, it was infuriating. No matter how poorly she'd done with her life, who was Audrey to judge? She was far from faultless, far from perfect. As far as Cecilia's concerned, Audrey abandoned _her, _and that's far more dispicable than the reason why she herself had been left behind.

Suddenly, the hesitance she'd felt all night, the doubt that had increased the moment she stepped into the small diner, disappears.

_**OoO**_

The door swings behind her as her eyes roam the kitchen in search of either Sam or Penny. They're near the back of the room talking, Sam washing a few dishes in the sink, and Penny sitting on the counter underneath the window, a cigarette in her hand. Their heads swing in her direction just moments after she barrels in.

"One of those girls out there knows me." She blurts quickly.

"Like knows me knows me... she called me Audrey."

It all suddenly just crashes on her, and instead of moving closer, she just stands there.

When she first started working there, she hadn't planned on telling anyone her truth. She'd sorted, what she thought, was a pretty concrete story about herself. She was the child of a single parent from a town outside of the city. Her mother, said parent, had died. So, she was on her own. She even went as far as doing a little research on the town she'd picked out, and since she had no real recollection of current world news, she asked Angel. He turned out to be incredibly helpful in fact. So, for a while, it worked.

It was easy to keep conversation light at work, what with customers, bosses and daily duties. When they invited her out that Monday night, she accepted because she thought she could handle it. Turns out, she couldn't.

The much more personal and intimate setting of the pub, the few beers she drank, the nearly endless questions from both Penny and Sam, and eventually the answers were harder to come by, and she ended up ratting herself out.

So, she came clean, and they both turned out to be more understanding than she'd expected. The abode thing had come up, and she'd simply said that she was renting a room from someone, and in fact, it wasn't a lie. Except Angel refused any type of payment, he'd said it was no problem since he really did have all that space.

She'd grown much closer to them ever since.

"Did you tell her?" Penny asks as she flicks the smoke out of the window, slipping off the counter after she does so.

She walks towards Summer, and then Sam turns off the water and follows her steps.

"Not exactly." She answers timidly.

"I'm pretty sure the other two, the worse ones thankfully, don't seem to know me."

"So now what?" Sam asks.

Suddenly remembering what she was supposed to actually be doing she answers, "I need to get some water."

She walks away from them and begins doing just that. Sam and Penny share a small look. When eventually Summer walks back towards them, a tray with 3 glasses on it, and a basket of corn chips and dip, Penny blocks her exit.

"I'll take care of them." She says, taking the tray from Summer, "Just stay here. Work things out, and by the time they're done, you'll be too, and I'll tell her that you'd like to talk to her alone, somehow."

Summer smiles softly.

"Thanks." She says simply.

Penny returns the smile, and heads out the swinging doors.

_**OoO**_

Angel leaves the bar with a confident grin on his face. As expected, he'd dealt with the couple rather easily. He usually liked to give them a fighting chance, but he hadn't started a bar brawl in years, and he wasn't interested in taking on the other patrons, nor losing the priviledge of coming back to this particular pub. He rather liked Manny, the bartender, he wasn't a bad guy really, and sometimes he even gave Angel a few tips.

He dispatched of them so efficiently, with the music and all the chatter among the place, half of the others hadn't even noticed. The ones who had, kept to their seats and just watched, perhaps either apathetic as the female had said, or perhaps too intimidated by his physical prowess.

After setting a bill on the bar, and offering a small apology to Manny, who didn't seem to be bothered by the altercation, he leaves knowing that if there had been a rumour going around regarding his competence, he'd effectively squashed it.

He thinks about skipping the clubbing district, but decides to forge on. He has a target right now, and from the sounds of it, it's probably the best area to head towards.

It suddenly occurs to him that perhaps he isn't as good as he used to be, he'd dealt with the two vamps and hadn't even thought of asking questions. He might have found out more regarding this new enemy, Markus. Like a lair, or the name of the girl.

He doesn't dwell on it too long though, he'll catch up to the vampire and the girl eventually, especially seeing as how this Markus is just begging to be caught.

The clubs don't turn out to be as promising as he'd thought they'd be. Turns out, most girls travel in packs, and most of them have some kind of chemical tainting their blood.

He does notice a couple of girls who seem to have an air of suspicion about them, one of them alone, her head veering around far too much, a look of danger, as if she was determined to find someone or something. The other, seemed more level headed than the other two with her, and it seemed to him as if she was the one calling all the shots.

It wasn't enough to go on though, and so he stuck to the shadows and watched. Noticing faces, groups, situations. He was on a stakeout of sorts, this one probably being the first of many nights, until he found a pattern, a series of potentials, until he found the girl.

And he would find her, of that he was certain.

_**OoO**_

All that is said about Audrey's dissapearance is that her shift has ended. She continuously peers at the door to the kitchen, but no one goes through except their new waitress. The two with her don't notice anything, and she smiles to herself at her own success. There's about as much depth to them as there is length to her skirt, which there isn't much of at all.

After about half an hour, she has the girls pay and sends them out of the diner, telling them to have a ciggie, and wait for her. She sits in her seat, and watches the door once more. There'd been that moment, when the girls had both gone to the "bathroom", really to do a line, which she had sent them to do. She wanted to find out where Audrey had gone. There was just no way she could return to him without her.

The waitress had come to her, and was about to say something when she cut in, "Is Audrey gone?"

The girl, whose nametag says Penny, closes her mouth, and is silent for a second, then she answers, "She's in the back. She's waiting to talk to you after you're done. Alone."

"Oh." She says at first, "Ok."

In that moment, the girls walk back in to the room, and Penny just offers a polite grin, and walks away. She lets out a small sigh of a relief before they join her again, knowing that as long as she has the opportunity, she'll be able to get Audrey to come with her.

If he's taught her anything, it's the art of coercion.

_**OoO**_

She takes a deep breath before she heads out to the dining area. There are still a few people at the counter, and Sam's carrying a conversation with a couple of the men sitting there. He flashes her a smile as she walks by, and she tries to return it, but it's so small she wonders if he even sees it.

She then turns her head to the back of the place, where she sees the girl, Cecily, Selina, _Cecilia, _sitting at the booth by herself. Their eyes lock instantly.

"Hey." She says simply, once she approaches the table.

"Hey." the girl replies.

She slides into the seat across from Cecilia, and barely moments after doing so, Cecilia speaks, "What's going on?"

She'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't exactly wise to divulge everything to this girl, even if she did supposedly know her. For one, Summer tried not to judge, but it was pretty obvious that this girl had something of an unsavoury lifestyle (to put it midly). It wasn't just her garb, there was a sallowness to her skin, and a gauntness to her figure, not to mention the slight dark circles she could percieve under the caked makeup.

However, she clearly can't pretend she is this Audrey character either. So, she decides to say only what needs to be said.

"I'm sorry about all the confusion."

She pauses to take a breath, "I hit my head pretty seriously recently, and ever since my memory has been a little.. fuzzy. The doctors say it'll all come back eventually."

Cecilia just continues to look at her for a moment before she eventually says, "Oh."

The air around them becomes stiff in the silence that follows.

"Your face is familiar though." She lies, trying to ease the situation.

Cecilia smiles, though for some reason, it doesn't feel all that genuine.

"It's late and I don't want to keep you from your friends, so I was thinking maybe we could exchange numbers and meet up for coffee sometime this week?" Summer says after a few seconds.

Immediately, Cecilia shakes her head back and forth, "I don't have a phone. Look, you're finishing up for the night, right?"

She nods.

"Ok, well the girls and I are heading back to my place, my roomate's having a small party, you should come."

Seeing the beginning of a no coming on, she goes on, "You don't have to stay if you don't want to, but at least you'll know where I live and you can stop by sometime and we can go for that coffee."

"...Well..." Summer says hesitantly.

"Oh!" Cecilia gasps out expertly, "And you can take the few things I have of yours that you left with me."

This seems to cement Summer's decision, and she says, "OK."

_**OoO**_

"Summer Anne Miller, are you crazy?" Penny exclaim.

"You can't go to some party with those floozies, you don't even know them! It could be some crazy crack den or something, or worse."

She expected this type of reaction, and she knows Penny's not entirely wrong, but the promise of information is just too compelling to deny.

"It'll be ok. I'm not going in, besides there are the two other girls. If it seems sketchy at all on the way there, I'll just call a cab and head home. The city never sleeps Penny, i'm sure there'll be tons of people around. It'll be ok."

Penny lets out a slow sigh, then says, "Fine. I still don't like it, but fine. Just promise me you'll call me the minute you get in a cab, and if I don't hear from you by the time my shift is done, no word of a lie, I swear I'll call the cops."

Without even looking at him, she continues, "And Sam agrees with me 100%."

Summer chances a look at him and he nods, "Usually I'd disagree with her, just for the sake of disagreeing with her, but this time, i'm with her on this."

"Alright alright, you worry warts." She laughs, trying to brush it all off.

"It'll be fine. And I promise to call, ok?"

_**OoO**_

From beyond the glass windows, she watches as Audrey says her goodbyes to her co-workers, and she waits. It'd all been too easy, and perhaps a little confusing, in fact she doesn't completely get exactly what is going on with Audrey's memory, but it doesn't really matter. All that does, is that she's succeeded in her duty, and so she smiles.

And she waits.

* * *

Thanks again for reading and reviewing and sticking with me and my story!


	12. Chapter X: Lost Love

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Warning: Adult themes and PG13 Language

Sorry this took so long!

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter X**

_Lost Love_

_His eyes are quickened so with grief,_  
_He can watch a grass or leaf_  
_Every instant grow; he can_  
_Clearly through a flint wall see,_  
_Or watch the startled spirit flee_  
_From the throat of a dead man._  
_Across two counties he can hear_  
_And catch your words before you speak._  
_The woodlouse or the maggot's weak_  
_Clamour rings in his sad ear,_  
_And noise so slight it would surpass_  
_Credence - drinking sound of grass,_  
_Worm talk, clashing jaws of moth_  
_Chumbling holes in cloth;_  
_The groan of ants who undertake_  
_Gigantic loads for honour's sake_  
_(Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin);_  
_Whir of spiders when they spin,_  
_And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs_  
_Of idle grubs and flies.  
__This man is quicked so with grief,_  
_He wanders god-like or like thief_  
_Inside and out, below, above,_  
_Without relief seeking lost love._

~Robert Graves

She walks in silence but aware, with the occasional fake smile planted on her face. Thankfully the ditzy two chatter the entire way, allowing her mind the time to race. Perhaps, this hadn't really been the best idea she thinks, and realizes now that she'd been a bit rash in deciding to accept the invitation. It was nearing 4am and although she wasn't tired, it was perhaps a little too late for this.

And yet, there is this nagging urgency to know something, anything about her past. It's not just the not knowing part that eats at her, but the feeling that it is vital that she find out.

The dreams have not yet abandoned her, but they never make any sense. Although they're incredibly real when she has them, when she wakes up, it's another thing entirely. She can only recall faces, fragments of small moments of time of a past she already can't remember.

"We're almost there." Cecilia says suddenly, sending her sight over to the blonde's direction.

From the look they briefly share, she gets the impression that the words were meant for her. She forces a soft smile.

The barrage broken, she realizes the area they're in is one she's not all too familiar with. She manages to brush it off, that is, until the crowds thin out.

Just as she's about to say she has to go, Cecilia speaks yet again.

"We're here." She turns her head back to the house behind her, Summer's eyes following her direction.

It's a small white house with a bright red door, a little worse for wear, but otherwise in good shape. Two tall oaks stand on either side of it, creating a harsher darkness on the place. Though everything about it is quaint and quiet, it still manages to create a pit in her stomach. She tells herself that 'It'll be fine', over and over again.

She hesitates for a moment, but eventually decides to follow them just to the porch. The girls go in first and she can hear music and people in the background. Cecilia stops at the entrance, her right arm holding the screen door open.

"You don't have to stay, but wait inside the entrance at least. Just while I get your things."

Eventually Summer just nods, and follows her in.

_**OoO**_

He catches a whirl of her in the air. It's only a fragment, a split second and it's gone, but he knows it was there. Naturally, it catches him off-guard. His ears and eyes perk up, but as he scopes around, there isn't anyone around but him.

What really registers in him though, isn't that her scent shouldn't be there (though with where he is, it _should _be) but that he even caught it to begin with. He'd almost consider it normal if it'd wafted up from a nearby tree, or bench, or wall, essentially something she'd _recently_ touched, but as he breathes in again and again and again, it's like it was never there. Though he knows with absolute certainty that it _was._

Momentarily stunned still, all that moves is his head as he veers it left to right. After a series of seconds, he turns west without much hesitation, not bothering to wonder how he knows it's the right way to go because he's too preoccupied with the worry whirring in his head to focus on that, and so he just walks with purpose.

He leaves the district he's in, passing the few blocks of parking lots, and decreasing warehouses as he nears the suburbs. They're mostly quiet, as expected, but he continues to walk. Despite entering the supposed safety of the suburbian streets, every muscle in his body is coiled tight, warning him that something is off.

Something is wrong.

He picks up pace as he strolls street after street. They're all the same; quiet, dark, and seemingly devoid of life. However, not a second goes by where he feels discouragement, in fact it is the opposite. With every row of houses passed by, he knows he's getting closer.

To where he needs to be.

_**OoO**_

The interior of the house is about as non-descript as the exterior of it, the walls covered with a dark floral pattern and bare of picture frames. All that occupies the space of the entry is the closet to her left, a small table with a lamp to her right and the hall just beyond it leading to the main area, most likely the living room area, and finally the staircase a few feet ahead of her leading upstairs.

She can hear commotion coming from the room beyond, the room Cecilia heads directly towards without a glance back to her. She decides to stay where she is.

"Cecilia! You're back!" She hears a male voice bellow out.

"Missed me, did you?"

She faintly hears Cecilia respond above the music playing in the background. Unable to really keep up with the conversation going on in the next room though, her attention returns to the area surrounding her.

Scanning around, her eyes eventually focus on the the thick green curtain covering the window beside the front door. Feeling the urge to peer back outside, she reaches to move it aside, but before she has a chance to view the glass, Cecilia's voice startles her.

"Audrey!" She says merely moments before her face comes into view, peering out beyond the frame of the hallway.

Her head snaps forward, and their eyes connect. For a split second she sees, what looks like regret cross Cecilia's eyes, but then she smiles and it's gone as she speaks again.

"Come in for a second. Have a seat while I get your things."

Despite the pit in her stomach, the one she's managed to convince herself is simply paranoia, she offers a nod and follows the girl she's supposed to know into the next room.

Passing the hall, she sees that there aren't as many people here as she had originally thought. Aside from Cecilia and the two girls she'd come with, whose names she couldn't remember, there were only four others. A woman with dark eyes in a red dress, and three men all dressed in clothes the same shade as her eyes.

"Audrey this is my... roommate Markus."

She points to the man sitting in the recliner, the one who seems to sit alone, and the one whose, unlike the other two sitting with the fiery woman, toughness seems more like menace. He offers a smile at Cecilia's words, a smile that doesn't really make her feel any more comfortable than she thought it might.

"Pleasure to meet you." He says, the words slithering smoothly out of his mouth.

All she can force out is a polite smile. And then Cecilia's body crosses their path as she takes a seat close to Markus. The only one left standing, as the two blondes are sitting on the couch to her right next to one of the as-of-yet still un-named men and the woman and the other man in the loveseat ahead of her, she sits next to Cecilia on the couch to her left.

"Oh, and this is Michael, Gabriella and Quentin. Markus' friends." She points to them from left to right.

The three seem to nod all at the same time and she finds herself offering a polite smile she has to force out yet again. Suddenly the silence that had formed, despite the unquiet music playing in the background is gone as the voluptuous blonde she came in with, starts talking to Cecilia, and the one named Quentin asks the other girl if she'd like something to drink.

And despite all the commotion that's beginning to take place, she feels his eyes on her the entire time. Minutes that feel like hours go by, and just as she checks the watch on her wrist, a voice aimed at her speaks.

"Cecilia. Why don't you go get Audrey's things, lets not keep her waiting. It is late after all."

Her head snaps up and locks eyes with Markus' before she turns them away quickly facing Cecilia instead, who seems to be reacting as jumpy as her, a barely there smile finding its way on her face.

".. Oh, right. Um, yeah... sorry."

And suddenly Cecilia breathes out and the stifled way she was moving is gone, and she smiles brightly at Summer, "Got distracted. Be right back."

She stands and locks eyes with Markus for a brief second, then leaves.

Summer, for her part, peers around the room once she does so, trying to pretend she's not as uncomfortable as she feels. Her eyes fall on the animated conversation going on between the five ahead of her, and paying attention she tries to find something to say to get involved.

And then suddenly, without warning, she feels a body take seat next to her, her head veering in the direction of the movement in a jerk reaction despite knowing who it is. His intent eyes catch hers. She tenses up almost instantly.

"Did Cecilia tell you we, her and I that is, met the night you moved out?"

_**OoO**_

It comes with no preamble, it's just a sudden high-pitched wail startling the silence of night. It ends abruptly but still he catches the sheer panic within it. The sound of it is so close however, he really has no reason, and definitely no time, to fret about it.

Focusing on the direction it came from, he singles out the house just ahead of him. The subtle telltale signs of his kind, like the thick darkness shrouding the place and the heavy dark curtains encasing all the windows, jump out at him instantly. He bursts through the front entrance mere moments later, and dashes towards the main room, where he knows without a doubt, the scene is playing out.

His eyes immediately land on two blondes, painstakingly human, ahead of him. One is being held down by a woman with familiar alabaster skin, a man kneeling over her, ridges and yellow eyes where faces should be. The other blonde is standing trapped by yet another monster's arms, his hand obstructing the sounds trying to escape her throat.

They all, both vampire and human, are startled still by his entrance. This sudden stillness lasts only seconds, when abruptly there's movement ahead of him, coming from two figures he hadn't even noticed were there. The man yanks the woman up quickly, turning them both towards Angel and pinning her back to his chest, his hand wrapping around her delicate neck, with the speed and agility only a vampire could have.

From the moment he catches sight of the dark braid cascading down her back, he just knows it's _her_. Their eyes connect as they always seem to do, and despite the situation she's in, he sees no real fear in them.

"Who the hell are you?" The vampire asks fiercely, tightening his hold on Summer.

Angel spares only a glance at her captor, and replies, "I think you know."

A distorted smile appears on Markus' lips as he twists his head slightly, eyeing his henchmen who are still gripping the two blondes.

"Well?" He says expectantly.

Almost as if a switch goes on in their heads, all three rush Angel at once, meal entirely forgotten. Though neither of the girls know what the hell is happening nor what is wrong with those people's faces, they know when shit has hit the fan. In fact, they've managed to survive this long almost entirely on their innate sense of self-preservation. So, it only takes seconds for the blonde duo to use this moment of distraction to flee. In the ensuing chaos, no one notices them leave.

Summer, for reasons she can't possibly fathom, feels far more passive than she ought to considering the hand gripping the base of her neck and the tilt of her head exposing her jugular.

From the moment the scream had pierced her ears and she had caught sight of the distorted faces and yellow eyes, she'd felt no fear. She'd only felt this deep sense of familiarity that seemed to lock her in place. So, she hadn't reacted when one of the girls had tried to escape only to be restrained, hadn't even flinched to the sound of the door bursting open, and she'd been too distracted by those faces to avoid the grasp that now held her.

His familiar dark eyes only seem to still her even more. Not only can she not move, but now she can't remove her eyes from his. And Angel, though willfully, keeps his eyes trained on her as well. The only goal here is to get her out of this alive, and he refuses to allow Markus any kind of opportunity a pair of otherwise occupied eyes might give him. So he dispatches of the three vampires without ever losing eye contact with her, effectively pinning both her and her captor in place.

Until suddenly, it is only them left.

Angel finally releases her gaze, and turns to Markus' annoyed and overconfident face. Instinctively, he tightens his hold on Summer just enough to cause a slight hiss to come out of her mouth. Angel tenses.

"Are you really going to hide behind that human?" He sneers.

Markus says nothing only smirks at him, and shoves Summer aside. Wasting little time, he lashes out and throws a kick Angel swiftly blocks. However, his opponent is a much more worthy adversary than the three other vampires had been. He gives out as much as he gets, and Angel finds himself struggling to maintain the upperhand.

Moments later, Markus lands a powerful punch sending Angel's head reeling back breaking his control, causing his face to shift. He manages to stop the leg barreling towards him and lands an uppercut of his own.

Instantly, Markus goes down. Quickly, he pulls out his stake and turns to Summer, giving her full view of his face. It's never what he wanted, but after tonight, he knows he has to scare her away. He's fooled himself long enough. He can't be her friend, he can't be her anything, not when he knows it'll only get her dead.

"Run!" He bellows, mustering up all the menace he can manage.

However, before he can watch her go, what feels like a ton of bricks crash down on his back, sending him to the ground. Before he has a chance, Markus' foot collides into his stomach propelling Angel to curl inwards from the pain. He repeats this action a few more times until he's convinced there is no fight left in the ensouled vampire. He reaches down and pulls a pliant Angel into a standing position only to slam him down on the coffee table breaking both the glass top and the cheap wooden frame.

An evil grin on his face, he reaches down and grabs Angel's ankle, pulling him off the shards of the table. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he turns to look around the room and sees Summer crouched against the far wall, a blank look he mistakes as fear, on her face. His smile deepens.

Turning back to Angel, he catches sight of the stake still in his limp hand. With his foot, he pins Angel's wrist and reaches to get it. His movements release Summer of the hold she's in. Her gaze goes to the shattered table.

Gripping the wood firmly in both hands, Markus sends it down into the direction of Angel's heart only to have a pair of arms shoot up mere inches away, stopping him. For seconds, they struggle.

Weakened, Angel can barely prevent the stake from coming closer, and as he feels the pressure of the point of the stake over his heart, he only hopes Summer has gotten away.

Just as the tip pierces his skin, it's gone and Markus is suddenly turning to ash, Summer's face coming into view through the dust.

Despite the pain, he forces himself up and away from her just as she reaches out to him.

"Get out of here." He says then, avoiding her gaze.

"There may be others."

He walks away from her, carefully checking the other rooms on the main floor of the house, but finds nothing. He comes back into the living room to find her in the same place, a concerned look on her face.

"What are you..." He starts once he's standing before her.

"Cecilia." She replies, cutting him off and pointing her finger upward.

He doesn't say anything else, just places his hand on her back leading her towards the entrance. Stopping in front of the stairs he nudges her towards the exit.

"Get out." He says, but before he moves away completely, he feels her small hand gripping his forearm, forcing him to turn back towards her.

Her eyes say it all, and with a reluctant sigh he only nods and says, "Stay close."

Still holding onto him, they walk up the stairs slowly and quietly. At the top, he tells her to stay there and yet again he swiftly checks the rooms to find them all empty save for the one at the end of the hall.

He takes longer there, and unable to wait anymore she goes into the room he's in. She finds him kneeling down besides a still female form on the bed, his fingers pressed against the inside of her wrist. A large yellowish band is wrapped around her other arm just above her elbow, and with the look of drowning contentment on her face, Summer quickly deduces whats going on.

Angel says nothing, just stands. She walks closer until she's standing over her supposed friend. Desperate for some truth, she reaches down grabbing hold of Cecilia's upperarms, and pulls her up into an almost sitting position.

She has a thousand questions rolling through her mind, the first to come out, "Why?"

No response comes from her, and finally feeling the weight of what just happened, she shakes the girl forcefully.

"What happened between us? Why did I move out?"

The next question comes out amidst her movements, the desperation finding its way into her voice. Slowly, the girl seems to rouse.

"Audrey?" She mumbles, causing Summer to shake harder.

"Why did I move out?" She repeats.

A lazy lopsided grin appears on Cecilia's face, and Summer then feels Angel's soft touch on her shoulder, and she stops, but doesn't let go.

"You left me." She finally answers, the words slurring from her mouth.

"Where did we live?" Summer asks, shaking her as Cecilia's eyes droop once again.

"The Pineridge Motel." Cecilia answers faintly, her head lolling back as her eyes finally shut close.

"How long?" Summer asks.

There's no answer.

"What happened between us?" Summer tries louder, ruffling her again.

Again, no answer.

"You won't get anything else from her now." Angel's voice sounds in the quiet.

Realizing he's probably right, she lets Cecilia go.

"Truthfully, " She whispers, "I'm not sure I actually want to know anymore."

She runs out.

He spares a quick look at the girl, and decides she's not worth anymore effort. Then he follows Summer, finding her standing outside just beyond the house's entrance.

"None of this means you're like her." He says.

She doesn't reply, and he takes a step closer. He wants to comfort her, and he realizes they should go, but there is something he absolutely needs to know. A question he can no longer contain.

"How did you-"

She spins around.

"I just... knew. I don't know how, especially since it seems like whatever that was, should have been impossible. But I just did. It's like so many things are coming together in here," She points to her stomach, "like in my gut, but up here," she points to her head, "it's still blank."

Silence.

"Why aren't you afraid..."

"Of you?" She finishes for him.

He doesn't answer, but it's pretty much all the response she expected.

"I'm just not." She replies like it's all the answer he needs. But it isn't.

"You saw what I am."

She smiles softly, and steps closer. "I trust you."

She looks into his eyes, sees the denial he''ll undoubtedly throw at her if she lets him.

"Have we ever met?" She asks before he can.

It works, his denial disappearing as a frown develops in its place.

"I mean, before that night in the Hyperion." She clarifies at his obvious confusion.

"Did you know me? See me once perhaps?"

"No." he says simply.

She doesn't say anything, just looks at him. She's never looked as vulnerable as she does in this moment, and he finds himself wishing he could close the little space left between them, and of course as soon as the thought enters his mind, the guilt forces him to take a step back. But the need to ease her worries remains and he lets out a small comforting smile.

"I'm going to help you find out who you really are."

* * *

A/N: The Markus/ Cecilia storyline is mainly over. They were my rising action, you can say (haha). Not fun to write, but crucial to the story.

Some of you guys mentioned that the whole Angel and others (mainly Willow) thing seems OOC, and I agree, it really would be. BUT... this a post-Buffy Angel, a broken Angel, a WEAK Angel, it wouldn't have been about love, but comfort. And it seemed to me like its something he'd do (and HAS done. re: Darla, Nina, hell maybe even Cordelia)

But ya, in ANY other world, that would NEVER happen, and I'd NEVER write it, but here... in my world, it does. But no worries, other than in my potential companion piece, it won't be mentioned again.

Anyways, thanks again for reading and reviewing and sticking with me and my story!


	13. Chapter XI: The World's A Minefield

Because no one like a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fanatastical Joss Whedon.

Again. thanks for reading if you still are.

* * *

_**The World's A Minefield**_

_The world's a minefield when I think of you._  
_I must walk carefully in case I touch_  
_some irretrievable and secret switch_  
_that blows the old world back into the new._

_How careless I once was about this ground_  
_with the negligence of ignorance. Now I take_  
_the smallest delicate steps and now I look_  
_about me and about me without end._

_Iain Crichton Smith_

"What about Cecilia?" She asks.

Caught by her words, he pauses mid-step, surprised he'd forgotten the girl in the dark house entirely. He's still uncertain of what her fate should be, and reluctant to be the one to decide it. Weakness covers her like war paint, and though she'd been guilty of many ugly things, her soul still remains and he knows better than most, that all is not yet lost.

He considers a regular rehab facility; what in these days is commonly called a 'Sober house', for that is exactly what they are. There is no shortage of rumors and theories surrounding the methods applied, for those who go in and those who come out are never the same, but one truth exists: there is no relapse. The conditions wouldn't be ideal, but at least they'd successfully free her of her addiction.

However, taking into account what Cecilia had been a part of, and what she might still be capable of, he quickly rejects the idea. Without the whole truth, they'd only drown her further.

The idea of helping her himself then crosses his mind. The notion however, is quickly abandoned with only one look at Summer. He could blame it on the matter of having them under the same roof, but it wouldn't be the truth.

For a very long time, Angel's first instinct had always been to aid those who needed him. More often than not, going as far as setting his own desires and happiness aside for them.

There is no doubt that Cecilia is a fellow tormented soul. Once upon a time, he would have heeded that call, no questions asked. In this moment though, he feels no such thing. Summer is all that matters, and that's all he knows for sure.

With this thought, he comes to understand the selfishness of the truth: She's his only real priority, not only in this specific circumstance, but in the entirety of his existence as well. He can no longer pretend that keeping her safe, and keeping her close, is for her sake only.

"Angel?" She asks softly.

With the train of his thoughts still present, Angel realizes there is only one place he could plausibly take Cecilia to.

"The slayers." He replies, mostly to himself.

"The who?"

He focuses on her once more as he forces himself back to the moment at hand. She's looking up at him, her gaze fixated and open, and also curious, but with a directness in them that's entirely new. For a few seconds, he doesn't know what to reply without having to get into all that... just yet.

"…Friend's." He finally responds and adds precariously, "Sort of."

A look of perplexity briefly plays on her features but quickly morphs into acceptance.

"Eventually you'll need to explain that to me, but for now, maybe we should just get Cecilia, and get the hell out of here."

She gazes down at the watch on her left arm and adds, "Since time is of the essence, right?"

He looks up momentarily, but only in reminiscence, for the presence of the Sun is always felt. Though felt for its continuing absence and the persistent pressure of its perpetual rising, and therefore, his falling.

Reluctant to verbally claim the Sun as his enemy, he nods tightly. He looks towards the black car he'd passed as he ran to the house, a plan already formed in his mind.

When his '67 Plymouth had finally had its last ride, Angel had ended up quitting cars altogether. For one, automobiles had changed in many ways since the early millennium, and he just can't abide the poor craftsmanship and all the fancy gadgetry. Secondly, and more importantly, anything older than a 2000 model is nearly impossible to come by, and when they are, the price is always more than he's willing to spend. So, he confines himself to walking, seeing as he really has nowhere to go.

He almost reaches out to her, but is reminded of his recent discovery and stops himself.

"C'mon." He says instead.

He leads her back into the house where he rummages around the entrance area and then the living room. He finds the keys in the pocket of a leather jacket hanging on a chair.

He heads back outside once more with Summer in tow, and presses a button on the pad attached to the key chain. The lights flick quickly and the doors unlock.

Handing them to her, he says, "Wait for me in the car. Turn the ignition on and don't forget to lock up."

She only nods, but as she passes him he lays a hand on her shoulder, effectively halting her steps.

"If anything out of the ordinary happens, I want you to just leave." He says firmly.

"Don't even think about getting out of the car."

She opens her mouth to speak, no doubt to mention him in this potential scenario, but he doesn't let her.

"No matter what." He says, releasing her and ending the conversation all at once.

She nods precariously, and gets in the car. When he hears the doors lock, he goes inside once more.

He bolts up the staircase, taking two steps at a time, and returns to the room Cecilia had been left in. Upon entering he sees that she's still as she was before.

He takes no pleasure in what he's about to do, but knows it must be done. Taking a deep breath, he recalls the image of Summer entrapped, with her head tilted sideways and the monster leering over her. In a matter of seconds, his face transforms, letting loose his own demon. Without hesitation, he grips both Cecilia's forearms and tilts her up.

Shaking her gently, and in a low but deep voice he says, "Cecilia."

Her eyes open, small slits at first, fluttering to grasp reality. When eventually she focuses on the ridges of his face and the sharp edges of his mouth, her high transforms from the normal soft dull haze, into the jittery frenzy explosion of a bad trip.

"Cecilia." He repeats.

With the expression of a cornered beast, she stays still. Tense.

"Cecilia, Markus is dead. In fact, they all are."

Devastation with a hint of relief plays in her eyes, but she doesn't speak, only nods. As if she understands that her life is in his hands.

"Once upon a time, your soul would have been mine for the saving."

With the sound of Angelus clear in the cadence of his voice, he continues, "Hell, once upon another time, it would have been mine for the _**taking**_."

"Today, well today is… a little bit of both actually." He sneers, letting the demon have its fun. For who better can scare the girl into wits than it?

"Today the soul is letting you live. If it were up to me… well let's just say death would be a blessing. Surely since you're so well acquainted with my kind; I don't have to elaborate much further."

She responds with the slightest of nods, and his grip tightens on her arms ever so lightly.

With his gaze deadly, he continues, "As of today, for you, Audrey no longer exists. If she ever does, if harm befalls her, believe it'll be the day the soul will leave me in charge. "

She starts to nod yet again, but he interrupts her motion, "I want to hear you say the words, Cecilia."

It takes a moment, but her mouth finally opens to reply, "She'll never hear from me again. I promise."

He smiles, and lets her go.

**OoO**

Sitting in a complete stranger's car, she find's herself thinking of how she got there. The night had started out like any other, had promised to end like any other; yet here she is. Waiting for a man, who turns out isn't exactly that at all, to take her home.

He appears at the front door barely 5 minutes later, a quickness in his step that deflates when he catches sight of her face.

She slides over to the passenger side as he approaches the vehicle and unlocks the doors. He gets in and within seconds has the car rolling out of the driveway.

She opens her mouth to ask the question she can't contain, but he speaks before she gets a chance to.

"I'm driving you to the diner, then I'm coming back for Cecilia to take her to the people I mentioned."

"Briefly." She mumbles under her breath, her tone sarcastic.

She can't stand all he's not saying.

"I'll tell you everything, now is just not the time."

He looks at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road.

She doesn't say anything, only averts her gaze to the window. The rest of the drive is spent in silence, though both with more they'd wish to say.

They arrive at Ginger's Corner shortly after, Angel coming to a stop just before the front entrance. Without looking at him, she opens the door to get out. She feels anger towards him, but isn't sure if its due to the fact that he's keeping her in the dark or because he seems more concerned about where Cecilia ends up than she does.

She moves to get out, setting a foot on the pavement, but turns back to him, her hand gripping the door handle.

"I'm just gonna head back to the Hyperion." She says, her way of letting him know that it makes no sense to drop her off here.

He puts the car in park and turns to her.

"Close the door." He says steadily.

Slowly, she does as he asks.

"This isn't about her."

Surprised, she quickly speaks, "What are you talk…"

"This is about you."

A slight stain brightens her cheeks, but it seems to disappear with his next words.

"Keeping you safe from harm." His voice so blatant, it almost seems to say 'and that is all'.

"I brought you here precisely so you wouldn't go back to the Hyperion alone. There may be others. You'll be _**safe**_ here until I return to pick you up."

She can't help but notice that word again, so she asks abruptly, "So what am I supposed to say? Hey guys, you know how I left with that trashy girl to find out about me? Well turns out, she bones the undead and tried to get me killed. I have to wait here so my landlord can, for no apparent reason, drive me home _**safely**_."

He takes all her words with only a slight flicker of emotion, a barely there smirk hidden in his mouth.

"Just leave out the part about the undead and the assassination plot, and you'll be ok. As for the girl, just say she had you confused with someone else. They won't doubt you."

All her emotion suddenly ebbs away at the softness in his voice, and she finds herself nodding in agreement.

"I'll be back for you in 30 minutes, at the most. Please, stay here."

"Ok." She answers, and finally gets out of the car.

She heads into the diner feeling his eyes on her, the car moving out of sight once she's secured inside. A voice from behind startles her into turning around, removing her gaze from the street outside.

"Penny's going to kill you." Sam says semi-seriously, a broom and dustpan in hand.

"She's been acting schizo for the past half hour cuz you haven't called. On that note, what happened with that chick? And what are you doing here anyway?"

"Well hello to you too." She answers.

"I swear Sam, you're worse than a girl. Do you do anything but gossip at work? Like actual work?"

He lifts the items in his hands and waves them at her, a grin on his face. "Need I say more?"

She smiles, and follows him towards the counter, as he goes back behind it putting the items away. She takes a seat in one of the chairs and places her bag on the tabletop. She chances a look around the place only to find it empty.

With no patrons, she delves into the topic at hand.

"So yeah, turns out she was a lot more loaded than I thought. She didn't know me at all. Had me confused with someone else."

She pauses, waiting for some kind of reproach, but he doesn't react out of the norm.

"No surprise there. I could have told you that."

She smiles at him, "Is that so? Well why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't ask."

She makes a face at him, but otherwise doesn't comment on his retort.

"Summer!" Penny's voice interrupts their peaceful quiet, appearing through the kitchen door.

"I'm going to kill you!"

Summer and Sam share a look, and then return their eyes to the blonde now standing beside Sam, her hands perched on her sides.

"I don't see why. I'm here aren't I?" Summer replies bravely.

Obviously caught by the fact that she has a point, Penny diverts into another question.

"Fine. What happened with the skank? Did you find something out?"

"No. It was a bust. She didn't know me, just had me confused with some other girl. So I came back. It wasn't very far from here."

She answers more decidedly than she thought would be possible, considering she's making this all up as she goes.

"How did you find out?" Penny asks.

"Pretty much everyone else at the party told me so. Turns out she was a lot more wasted than I thought."

Letting out a sigh, Penny relaxes.

"Well. It sucks you're still in the dark about you, but on the positive, at least you know you're not friends with that tramp."

The words are less than comforting, but she still flashes Penny an appreciative smile.

With the anxiety regarding her well being vanquished, the present moment finally dwindles on Penny.

"What are you doing back here anyway?"

"I asked her the same question." Sam adds in.

"Good for you." Penny replies unenthusiastically, sparing only a glance at him.

"Well?"

"I'm waiting for a ride."

"From?" Penny interrogates.

"What is this, 20 questions?" She says, tired of all the inquiries.

"I'm waiting for a ride from a friend. The end."

"Stop being so mysterious and I'll stop." Penny interjects teasingly.

"So who's the _**friend**_ picking you up at four in the morning?"

"Why is this a big deal? Daniel comes to get you all the time, why shouldn't I get picked up too?"

With a great grin on her face, Penny continues, "Oh, so now he's your boyfriend?"

She averts her eyes over to Sam at her friend's words, only to find a similar smirk on his face. Embarrassed, a blush tints her cheeks.

"That's not what I meant." She says meekly.

"Sure, sure." Penny nudges Sam as she speaks, "So who is he?"

"It's my landlord, if you must know."

With a perplexed look, Penny asks, "And why is he giving you a ride home?"

"We live in the same building. We're friends. He works nights too. He offered to give me a ride home. I said yes. Period."

Penny opens her mouth to speak yet again, but Sam places a hand over her mouth.

"Ok, that'll do Penny."

He smirks, uncovering her mouth, "I think she's had enough for one night."

"Fine." Penny relents, popping up on the ledge behind her.

Flashing Sam a grateful smile, she changes the subject, "So, what've you guys been doing?"

The conversation veers into safer territory, and after 10 minutes it's as if she'd never even left. That is, until Angel appears through the door. Her back to the entrance, she doesn't realize it at first.

"Ok, major hottie just walked in." Penny says suddenly, a pleased grin on her face.

She turns towards the way in casually, and immediately locks eyes with him. He starts heading towards her, as she turns back and says softly, "That's my landlord."

In an equally soft voice, Penny replies, "OK, you never said he was tall, dark, and handsome."

He reaches them in that moment, and Summer forces a friendly smile on her face.

"Hey." She greets, standing up.

"This is Penny and Sam. My co-workers."

Turning to them, with a stern look that says 'please don't embarrass me', she adds, "Guys, this is Angel."

"Nice to meet you." Angel says, ever the gentleman.

"So, you're her landlord, is that right?" Penny asks anyway.

"I am." He answers simply.

"It's really nice of you to give Summer a ride home. I've never heard of a landlord who cared… so much for a tenant."

"Well you must not have met very many good ones." Angel says in the same tone as before.

"Summer's a lucky girl I guess." She replies.

Wanting this conversation to end, Summer speaks up, her attention set on Angel, "OK, well it's late, and I'm sure you're beat, as am I, shall we go?"

She grabs her purse from the counter, and turns towards the exit.

"It was nice meeting you." Angel says politely before walking away.

"The pleasure was all mine." Penny replies coyly.

"Goodnight guys." Summer quips, rolling her eyes at the short blonde.

"See you tomorrow, well tonight."

Angel's back turned, he doesn't see Sam covering Penny's mouth once more as he finally speaks.

"Goodnight."

**OoO**

"How did it go?" She asks once they're outside.

Without responding, he starts walking. She follows, looking around for the black car, though doesn't see it within the lot.

"I already ditched it." He says once she's caught up to him.

The streets are quiet around them, and the silence seems to set her at ease.

He eventually answers, "Fine. A lot better than I expected actually."

They arrive at the Hotel shortly after, the journey into the confines of its walls, quiet. The silence travels with them up the stairs, ending when they reach his floor.

"I know there are lots of things I haven't explained, but it's not for a lack of desire that I haven't divulged them to you." Angel begins explaining.

Wishing to diffuse his worries, despite the persistent nagging of her curiosity, she places her hand gently on his forearm, the leather of his jacket soft under her fingers. She's finally realized that there is only one thing that truly needs to be said tonight.

Peering up at him, she states gently, "Thank you Angel. For saving my life."

For once, he seems at a loss for words. For once, his emotions are there, on display, for her to see. Considering the many times she's hoped for their appearance, she's surprised to find the sensation of it to be almost more than she can handle.

She's about to turn away when he speaks.

"If I'm not mistaken, it was you who saved me."

She'd sort of put that aspect of the evening out of her mind, so his words manage to surprise her.

"I guess that's sort of true." She answers, meekness in her gentle grin.

"So thank you Summer. For saving my life."

She can't help but notice the flatness in his last few words, but doesn't press the matter.

"Still," She continues, "I only survived that because of you."

His guard low, and his tone deflated, he says, "You could have died because of me."

With a smile in her voice she tells him, "That's where you're wrong. I got myself in that position, not anyone else. I was so obsessed with finding out the past that I didn't see my present till it had me by the neck, literally."

His expression shifts slightly at her words.

"Point is," she resumes bluntly, "I would have died, if it hadn't been for you. And let's just leave it at that. For now."

So, with only one last look, she turns away from him and bolts up the remaining stairs to her own floor.

She plops down on her bed as soon as she reaches her room, falling back as her thoughts return to Angel. Despite how the past hour has irrevocably altered her life, she finds her perception of him has not.

From where she lays, she kicks off her flats, squirms her way out of her jeans, and tucks herself under the sheets; the pull of sleep strong thanks to 8 hours on the job and the other events she's resigned to leave for tomorrow.

Before finally drifting into her dreams, she comes to one conclusion.

Even with the knowledge of the monster he defines himself by, to her, he's just Angel. And whether that may be entirely naïve of her, considering the things she saw him do, doesn't matter. She's decided to trust in him, because after all, he has decided to trust in her as well.

**OoO**

He watches her disappear for one long moment, before turning away and going to his own room.

Inside, things look the same. His bed disheveled, his kitchenette spotless, his tower of books along the wall. However, its monotony doesn't offer the comfort it once had. Things aren't the same at all anymore.

With a sigh, he gently removes his black jacket and hangs it on a hook in the wall near the door.

Luckily, he doesn't really look worse for the wear. All the damage he'd earned, for his own stupidity, is hidden within the folds of his dark clothing.

He knows some of his ribs are broken, and that he probably has more than a few cuts on him from the glass, though minor, thanks to that coat.

Heading for the bathroom, he sheds the rest of his clothes to inspect for damage, and finds little. His ribs are only a little tender now, and though there'd been proof of plenty of cuts written in his shirt, he finds many of them only red marks mostly healed.

He jumps in the shower, the water almost scalding, not only rid himself of the blood and grime but also to try and remove the feeling of disquiet simmering in the depth of him.

He steps out of the bathroom feeling fresh and clean, but still ill at ease inside.

Instead of slipping down into the sheets with dawn less than 2 hours away, he dresses in comfortable clothing. For a few moments, he paces his room, eventually taking a seat in his chair by the window. He tries to bring himself to read, to clear his mind. The ruse however, doesn't work.

Unable to stay confined within his walls any longer, he grabs the keys and leaves. He stops at the room across the hall, seeking the relief its presence somehow gives him. He stops though, just before the key finds home within the lock, recognizing that it isn't where he wants to be either.

Then, without even realizing it, he finds himself on the next floor up, standing outside her room.

He's always known that his supernatural abilities would enhance with time, but truth be told, he'd never considered, nor relied on that fact. Now, with well over 300 years under his belt, he's become profusely aware of that truth.

For one, he heals exponentially faster, to the point that he can almost watch an ailment heal itself. And for another, his senses are such that, all he needs is a moment of concentration, and he can pretty much see, smell, or hear anything many feet away.

So with this in mind, and compelled by an infinite sense of obligation to check on her, he closes his eyes, and focuses on the sounds hidden behind the door in front of him.

Within seconds, he can hear the steadiness of her breath as well as each occasional movement she makes. With his hearing focused, he moves to the next room over, and unlocks the door.

He heads in with purpose, strolling past the shambles of the room quickly, stopping at the door adjoining Summer's room with this one. He pulls out the keys, setting the master key apart. With only a little a resistance, he unlocks and opens the door quietly.

Her headboard is pressed against the wall opposite him, and he can make out her undisturbed sleeping form. He makes no move to enter the confines of her room; in fact, he makes sure to absolutely avoid crossing the invisible barrier separating him from her.

He simply stands there, gazing not only at her, but also at the space she calls her own. From the moment he'd decided to shelter her, he'd decided to keep this area, a strictly Angel-free zone. When he'd brought her here for the first time, he'd avoided crossing the threshold, and had disappeared quickly to ensure she didn't have the opportunity to invite him in.

It was stupid he knew,because no matter what he did, nothing would ever create the barrier he felt at any uninvited home. Just as he'd been able to enter the house tonight, so he would always be able to enter her room. The hotel is _**his**_, just as the house is, or was, Markus'. Still, he stands by his choice and remains within the unused room.

The Sun is a couple of hours away, and though he's checked the hotel, and is more than certain that Cecilia's friends are all taken care of, he can't bring himself to leave. So, he takes a seat on the carpeted floor of the unoccupied room, and waits till the Sun sets him free.

**OoO**

She doesn't see him until she's about to head to work. Which is strange because that's not usually the norm. Now that she thinks about it, she'd never really noticed before that he tended to show up after sunset. Nor that whenever he had shown up before the sun's descent, it'd always been in a room that either required artificial light, or the rays barely touched.

He appears suddenly at the foot of the stairs by the courtyard doors just as she approaches the lobby.

"Hey." She greets with a soft smile, while a little unsure of what to say exactly.

He gives her his usual greeting, what she call's the 'Stoic Bob'; it includes the combination of a small nod and the slight upturn of his lips.

"Off to work?" He asks casually.

She wants to say 'duh!' but doesn't, only replies, "It's about that time sadly."

"I'll walk you." He says, the sound of a question in his voice.

She thinks about doing the polite thing, saying something along the lines of "oh you don't have to do that!" or "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you", but the truth is, she's been waiting for him since she emerged from her room.

"Well if you insist." She responds simply.

She walks up the steps to him, closing the distance between them. Standing before him, she notices the dark shadows under his eyes, and the way his usual casual appearance denotes a carelessness she's never seen before.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, suddenly remembering the pounding he'd taken for her.

She reaches out to him, stopping short of actually doing it at the reaction that passes through his eyes. It's like a refusal to her touch. Her arm drops.

He doesn't react to her movements, only answers, "I'm fine."

His unusual coldness sends a chill down her spine, though not of fear. It feels more like rejection. The force of her feeling manages to compel her do 'the polite thing'.

"The diner is barely 10 minutes away, and you just woke up, don't worry about walking me to work. I'll just see you tomorrow or whenever." She says, making her voice sound casual.

"I'll walk you to work." He repeats gently.

She opens her mouth to rebuff him again but he continues, "The fresh air will do me some good."

With no argument left, her lips seal shut, and she nods tightly. They step out into the courtyard, the air uncommonly cool for an Indian summer night.

Just as they pass the fountain and near the front gate, unable to contain herself any longer, she speaks.

"Angel…" She pauses, momentarily unsure of how to phrase it, until she just decides to let it come out as it may.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to explain your life story to me, but there are some things I need to know about… what happened last night." She finishes lamely.

He doesn't speak at first, just stares at her solemnly.

Eventually, with a light sigh he replies, "Won't you be late for work?"

"It'll be ok." She answers decidedly.

She's never been late before, and it's never busy at the start of her shift anyways. She senses his resignation as he takes a seat on the fountain ledge. He says nothing, but his gaze says it all. _Ask away._

"Where'd you take Cecilia?"

By the look on his face, it isn't the question he'd been expecting.

"The slayers." He responds.

He'd said that the night before, but she hadn't understood then either, so she retorts, "The who?"

"For you to understand, there are a few things you have to know first."

He's silent for a moment before he resumes, "The world is a lot more complicated than most people think. There are things, not just vampires…" He trails off, searching for the right words.

"That go bump in the night?" She finishes for him.

A blush tints her cheeks then, for the words had popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He manages to smile and remain serious all at the same time before he replies, "So to speak."

He goes on, "Most of them are dangerous; some are not. For nearly as long as they've existed, so has the slayer. She's born into it, chosen because of who she is. Simply put, she protects your kind."

"Mankind." He adds, in case it isn't clear.

"Earlier, you said 'slayers'. As in plural." She says then, dodging his subtle innuendo to the difference of their 'kind'.

He doesn't reply immediately. He hasn't talked of this in many years, and he's finding it difficult to explain himself without using the all too painful old phrases. Without bringing _her _into it.

"It used to be only one." He stops yet again.

For a few more moments, he's quiet as he simply gazes up at the sky.

For Summer's part, she stays silent but uses the moment to bravely take a seat next to him, though careful to keep a safe distance between them. She feels his eyes on her as she does so, but otherwise, he does nothing.

Knowing that the only way to explain is by coming out with it all, he returns her look.

"One girl alone, chosen by chance but chosen exactly because of who she was. She was given the strength and ability to fight anything that threatened the safety of the world. But of course, she is still human, and when she falls, another takes her place. It was that way, until she…" There is a brief pause before he finishes, "…The last, decided to change that."

His gaze returns to the stars, and she finds herself glancing up at them as well.

"So they're the good guys?" She asks to clarify.

"Aside from the fact that they're all women, yes."

"Any particular reason for that?"

He looks over at her to see her eyes on the night above, her demeanor calm and comfortable. Her obvious trust still surprises him.

"Many, though no one knows for sure which one it is."

He removes his eyes off her, and gazes beyond the courtyard gate. She brings hers back down to him.

"So they'll help her?" She asks, returning to her curiosity.

"They will." He answers simply.

"And they'll leave you alone."

He feels her sigh of relief though there isn't much of one visibly. There is quiet all around them for a few seconds as she considers her thoughts.

She breaks the silence by inquiring, "How do you know them?"

Startled by the question, he breaks his focus from the street and turns to her.

Mistaking, or rather deeply understanding his gaze, she continues, "I ask because I assume it's not like she, they I mean, are announcing their presence to people. Not because you're a vam…" She trails off, the word feeling too much like an insult for her to continue.

"You don't have to avoid the word, I am a vampire. And although I know it's not where you were coming from, it's a completely feasible idea."

"The thought never crossed my mind because I know that you're an exception to the rule, Angel." She interjects before he has a chance to answer her actual question.

Neither speaks immediately, until eventually she does.

"I don't know how exactly, but I understand that vampires are real and that they're dangerous. I know that you are one, and that I probably shouldn't trust you. But I also know that you aren't like the others. The vampire is in you, but it isn't you at all."

She blushes again, "Sorry, I must sound like a fool."

When he doesn't say anything, her nerves force her to ramble on.

"I hope I didn't offend…"

"You didn't." He quickly interrupts.

"I am different."

His head veers up to the moon once more, and he stands.

"I still have my soul." He says simply.

**OoO**

As promised, Angel walks her to work after their conversation, and she arrives less than a half hour late. Again, he waits until she's tucked safely inside before he departs.

Late, she doesn't watch him leave, only rushes to the back, as both Penny and Sam are busy.

She stores her things in a daze, her mind still tied up in all she's just found out. Angel had pretty much answered all her questions, except how he'd met the slayers, but had raised a few other ones she hadn't been able to bring herself to ask. They were mostly about him, and his own past. And though he hadn't said anything specific, it was the manner in which he spoke that left her feeling like there was something, or someone else he wasn't mentioning.

And then, just as she pushes the locker door closed, she remembers her first night in the Hyperion, and the inscription she'd come across the morning after.

She'd managed to forget it almost entirely, but now, it's all she can think about. It had started with a poem that was obviously not his; she knows this due to his remark regarding the bees (which had stood out to her too). She tries to force herself to remember his following words, but all that comes is a small fragment from the end.

"This, all that I am; demon and soul…" She starts aloud, "… Something and something, is yours. Forever."

Even with a part of it missing, it still makes more sense than it had originally.

Heading back out, she can't help but wonder… 'Does this mean he's in love with someone else?'

The rest of the night, her mind is somewhere else. Even when Penny and Sam rib on her lateness and make more than embarrassing innuendo about what happened the night before, she doesn't react.

When three am rolls around, an idea has finally found its way to her.

"Would you mind covering for me, just for like, an hour?" She asks Penny just as she's about to head to the staff room.

She hates to impose, but knows that tonight is her only real opportunity.

Angel had told her he'd be out tonight, looking for leads to her past. The book is in his room; she simply knows it has to be, and this might be the only chance she ever gets.

"You're kidding right?" Penny immediately responds, a grin on her face.

When Summer doesn't respond, the smile fades away.

"You aren't. Are you?"

Timidly, Summer answers, "An hour tops. Probably a lot less. I wouldn't ask unless it was absolutely necessary."

Retying her apron, Penny turns away from the kitchen.

"Fine." She answers.

"I know you covered for me yesterday, but you owe me, big time, for this."

"Thanks so much Penny!" Summer immediately replies, reaching for the tie at her back.

With a sigh, the platinum blonde returns to the main floor, and she heads to the back to grab her keys.

Minutes later, she's back out front, Penny and Sam sitting on the counter ledge, the diner empty.

"You're so lucky I like you." Penny says as soon as she appears.

"I really do appreciate it. And I promise, I won't be longer than an hour."

She dashes out before either can even ask her where she's going. She arrives at the Hotel in less than 10 minutes, thanks to the quickness of her steps.

She calls out his name once she's inside, but there is no response, and the place feels empty.

She checks the wooden frame still in the lobby, and as expected, the book isn't there. Then, she heads up the stairs to his floor. Once there, she realizes that she doesn't know which one is his exactly.

As if her mind is stuck on reminiscence, she recalls the day she'd tried entering one of the rooms on this floor. Without much effort, she remembers the exact door.

Turning the knob slowly, she finds it locked.

"Damn." She mumbles under her breath.

Without any other plan, she tries the rest of the doors on that side in succession, but finds them all locked. She progresses to the other side of the hall, and the same pattern begins to appear. All locked. That is, until she comes to the door opposite of where she started.

Distinctly, the knob rotates clockwise until she has the door open. The light of the hall brightens the dark room enough that she knows it's his.

She's about to step inside when it occurs to her that he might find out. He'd mentioned a thing or two of his enhanced abilities, and surely she'd leave a trace of some kind. For a few minutes she just stands there, unsure of what to do. If he does find out, there is no legitimate answer she can give him. With a deep regretful sigh she pulls the door shut.

"It's for the best." She says to herself before she leaves the floor.

She's not sure she wants to know whether there is someone else or not.

As she steps back out into the cool night, she consoles herself by remembering that if there is another, she's at least in the past.

* * *

A/N: Angel may seem a little OOC here, specifically with his dialogue, but I felt it was important to show that he feels enough for her to break his many rules.

SPOILER: This story is only 5 chapters and an epilogue away from done!

Again, thanks.


	14. Chapter XII: Sudden Light

Because no one likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

What you need to know: The previous chapter included Summer's night, and this one starts with the same night, told from Angel's perspective.

Sidenote: This is the poem that inspired this series!

* * *

**_Sudden Light_**

_I have been here before,  
__But when or how I cannot tell:  
__I know the grass beyond the door,  
__The sweet keen smell,  
__The sighing sound, the lights around the shore._

_You have been mine before, -  
__How long ago I may not know:  
__But just when at that swallow's soar  
__Your neck turned so,  
__Some veil did fall, - I knew it all of yore._

_Has this been thus before?  
__And shall not thus time's eddying flight  
__Still with our lives our love restore  
__In death's despite,  
__And day and night yield one delight once more?_

_~Dante Gabriel Rossetti_

"I still have my soul." He states, deciding that he doesn't want to hide that from her.

He doesn't wait for her response, doesn't even look back to make sure she's following him as he heads out the Hyperion gates. He knows she does anyways.

It's well into their walk to her work that she finally speaks.

"So then you are human." She states plainly, glimpsing over at him.

He shakes his head, "No..."

"Ok, well you're both then. Or neither. I'm not sure. But either way, you're..."

She's quiet for a moment, "...more." She finishes unsteadily.

Her words manage to shock him, forcing him to snap towards her and ask, "What do you mean?"

She returns his gaze, then looks forward once more and stops walking.

Turning back to him, she speaks.

"Well, being human doesn't necessarily make someone good. And I obviously have no clue what it must be like for you, but I imagine it's a daily fight to deny your baser impulses."

There is a second of silence as she takes in his reaction. Then suddenly, quickly, she continues.

"What I mean is, humans are nothing if not weak. And even with a soul, you could have made the easy choice and let the vampire take over. But you don't."

Her face goes soft as she says, "And you do good."

He opens his mouth to interject but she doesn't let him.

"You helped me when you didn't have to. You choose to be more than a killer, more than just a human."

Looking into her eyes for what must be the hundredth time, he still feels as if he's never really seen her till this moment.

"I've done things..." He starts to argue.

"No one is perfect." She interrupts.

"And the past is past."

Aware that he seems unconvinced she adds, "We are who we choose to be."

Her head swerves forward, and for a few moments, they walk in silence. He doesn't understand how someone who knows so little, can understand so much.

She turns back then, her demeanor much more casual.

"What'll you do tonight?" She asks, trying to change the subject.

"Check things out." He answers vaguely.

"You mean about…"

"Your past. Yes." He interrupts and finishes for her.

He sees the familiar faded orange bubble letters above the diner's doorway and stops. She looks over at him.

"Well, thanks for walking me." She says nonchalantly.

"It was my pleasure, really." He replies honestly.

A soft smile fills her face at his words.

"See you tomorrow?" She asks timidly.

He only smiles, and nods. Her grin grows brighter.

"Be careful tonight, Angel." She says just before she swivels back around and walks quickly to the restaurant's entrance.

He watches her step inside the diner with the strange name, and takes off the moment she does so. As he heads back to the house he'd been to only the night before, the quiet, and Angel's mind, blares on.

In the 300+ years of his existence as the creature that he is (half soul - half not), only a handful of people never shied away from his true face. Buffy was the first. She'd been naive in falling for him, but underneath her girlish charm and youth, she knew, understood and accepted him just as he was. He sees that now.

However, for the most part, it was something most had to learn to get used to, but not her.

Summer saw his monster, and there was no fear. There _is _no fear. She sat next to him by the fountain, and although curious, there wasn't one second where she seemed at all wary of him.

Having feared the confession for months, he's surprised by how unburdened he feels at having finally told her the real truth. He wonders if maybe it has something to do with the fact that he somehow knew it wouldn't make her run.

And then there'd been everything she'd said about his soul. He wants to deny her words, but they keep replaying in his mind, and he can't help but feel as if there is some sense to her logic.

He arrives at the place, and all his thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind as he focuses on the house in front of him.

The house he'd never disclosed to the slayers; the one he knew they'd discover, sooner or later. It wasn't that he didn't want them to find it, it was fair game to whatever investigation his loading of Cecilia on them brought, but he had to be sure of one thing first.

He'd meant it, in every sense, when he'd told Cecilia that 'Audrey', as she'd called Summer, 'no longer existed'. When he'd gone back to pick her up, he'd made himself crystal clear on that.

The slayers were not to know of Summer, something inside of him insisted it would be better that way. It was one of those gut feelings he knew he had to follow through with. 'For her safety.'

So here he is, ensuring she isn't found; to remove any trace of her there may be. He starts on the main level but doesn't really find much of anything.

He progresses to the top floor, and in the rooms finds nothing. His eyes catch the linen closet in the main hall on his way out, and as he passes it, he almost doesn't check it. But then he remembers how the night before Cecilia had paused here, not two steps from where he stands, so he turns back and opens the door.

There's pretty much nothing there, save for a few sheets and towels, but he spots a small bent-up shoebox in the corner of the top shelf.

Considering its a children's shoebox, he pulls it down and opens it, finding inside an array of items; ticket stubs, notes, and pictures. He glances at the photos, and quickly comes across the bright darkness of Summer's hair.

The photograph is old, he can tell by the worn-out quality of the image. Not to mention that they're also both a few years younger.

There is snow all around them as they stand outside; the smiles on their faces genuine as they half embrace. They almost look like twins, their hair colour and expression nearly the same.

Looking at them, he realizes that although Cecilia is the one who's changed the most; with her platinum blonde locks, revealing clothing and her excessive make-up of now, it is Summer who looks the most different.

For one, her eyes are brown, not the green he's familiar with, though he supposes she could be wearing contacts. She is very obviously the same person, but something about the girl next to Cecilia, is so unlike the Summer he knows.

Sighing, no real conclusion coming to mind, he places the photo in his breast pocket, and takes the contents of the box with him.

His next destination is the motel Cecilia had mentioned in her drug-induced haze. It's as sketchy as he expected to be, which saddens him slightly because Summer had apparently lived here too.

As expected, the motel manager remembers exactly who Cecilia is when Angel shows him the picture.

The man describes her as trouble, that she'd been responsible for various noise complaints, and near the end of her stay, even a couple of cop calls as things had gotten out of control.

He'd eventually evicted her once she stopped paying her rent.

Angel then brings himself to ask about the other girl in the photo.

The clerk squints at the image and replies, "She was the roommate, that's all I know."

He looks away from the picture, and back up at Angel's face, with a distasteful expression on his face.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about either one of them?" Angel asks.

"A man used to come and drop off bar tabs every once in a while." He replies with obvious impatience.

"From?" Angel questions.

"The Tarantula."

He opens his mouth to find out what that is, but the man continues, "It's a bar, about 10 minutes west of here."

"Thanks."

His gratitude goes unnoticed as the manager turns away before Angel even utters the word.

He finds the place easily, and finds himself less than enthused about entering. It's very obviously a meat market, and a fairly unkempt one at that.

He folds the photo in half, hiding Summer's face, unwilling to expose her to this crowd.

He approaches the bar, and lucks out when he sees a woman standing behind it. He hasn't seen his own face in longer than he wants to remember, but he knows it'll help get the information he wants out of her.

She smiles at him seductively when he reaches her.

"What can I get for you Hunny?" She asks playfully.

He shows her Cecilia's face and asks, "Have you seen this woman?"

Her posture changes immediately, disdain obvious in her features.

"That trash isn't welcome here anymore, and any friend of hers ain't either."

She starts to walk away, but he reaches out and grabs her forearm, halting her steps. When she looks back at him, he lets go.

"I'm no friend of hers." He states.

"Are you a cop?" She asks plainly.

"No."

She scrutinizes him for a minute before she eventually says, "What do you want to know?"

Merely curious, he asks, "Why'd she get banned?"

"She was turning tricks in the men's bathroom. This isn't exactly the Ritz, but this ain't no whorehouse either."

The bartender's clear disapproval of Cecilia gives Angel the courage to show her the other face in the picture.

He's tense as he inquires, "What about this girl? Have you ever seen her?"

The scantily clad woman glances down at the image, and after a few seconds finally responds.

"She came in to pay Cecilia's tab the night she got banned."

He leaves the bar comforted by the fact that Summer had only been spotted at the Tarantula that one time. However, he can't deny that Cecilia had very obviously been more than just a party girl, and Summer's connection to her doesn't bode well.

The only other leads he gets are about Cecilia, but merely tales here and there of her promiscuity, and/or her recklessness. And regarding Summer, it's just the motel manager and bartender that recognize her, but neither offer anything concrete.

Without any other real choices, and although he abhors the idea, he heads into an Internet café and uses the web to look Cecilia up. He finds less than he expected, what with the vast expanse of knowledge available there, but does manage to find a last known address. She hails from Chicago, Illinois, and without a doubt, knows that Summer does as well.

He arrives back to the Hyperion just before 4 in the morning, having stopped at the diner to make sure she was ok (In true Angel fashion, without being seen).

He catches her aroma on his floor, the presence of it strong enough to convince him that she'd been here recently. It doesn't make sense, considering he'd just seen her at Ginger's Corner.

Fearing his last secret has been revealed, he quickly unlocks the room across the hall from his, but the air is stale, as it always is. He feels shame once he really looks within its walls, and pulls the door shut once more in hope of escaping the feeling. In his haste to get away, he forgets to relock it.

Returning to the hall and the scent of Summer lingering in the air, he heads to his own room to see if she'd been there. She's no where to be found there though, and so, with other issues pressing on his mind, like the contents of Cecilia's shoebox, he lets the knowledge of her appearance fade away… for the moment.

He spends the remaining hours of his night piecing together the bits of information he's found out, trying not to focus on her specifically, with little success.

**_OoO_**

Summer's night, on the other hand, turns out to be far too busy for her to focus on anything but the present moment.

There'd been a crazy rave with a popular DJ at one of the clubs nearby, and being that Ginger's Corner was one of the few places open 24 hours, ravers had steadily poured through the front door all night.

Because she'd covered for Summer for those 20 minutes, and because it was busier than usual, Penny ends up staying till well after 4 in the morning. Her boyfriend Daniel sits at the counter, and patiently waits for her. When she finally does get the chance to leave, the diner is quiet, the few customers there all served, she uses the opportunity to tease Summer.

"So, how are things with Angel?" She inquires, his name emerging mischievously from her lips.

"He's just a friend." Summer tries to reply steadily, a blush still managing to find its way onto her cheeks.

"Sam, tell her she's not fooling anyone." Penny smirks.

He's leaning on the counter standing beside Summer as she rolls knives and forks into napkins, paying sole attention to the utensils in her hands.

With a grin, he says, "He's not fooling anyone either."

"Why do you say that?" Summer asks, her gaze now intent on him.

Penny laughs, "That sure got your attention."

Remembering herself, Summer says, "I just meant, how could he even know that? Sam only met him yesterday."

"It's pretty obvious that that wasn't what you meant at all." He states.

"Shut up." Summer declares, looking forward again, the sides of her face tinted red once more.

"But if I do, you won't find out what I know."

"I'm intrigued to find out what side of her wins." Penny speaks up.

"Her desire to know, or her need to save face."

"C'mon guys. Leave the poor girl alone…" Daniel interjects suddenly, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Hush!" His girlfriend says as she swats her hand in the air at him.

Summer doesn't reply, just returns to her task with vigor.

After a few seconds of this, the blonde continues, "Oh boo. It's no fun if she doesn't react. Just tell her."

Her emotions once again in control, she finally speaks, "He has nothing to say, Penny."

"You're right. I was too busy teasing you to pay attention to his face."

Sam pauses, then adds sarcastically, "Oh wait! That was Penny."

Her hands pause, and she looks up at him before she calmly states, "Fine. What do you know then, Sam? Please, tell me. "

His face turns serious then, "It was the way he looked at you."

His words catch her, and he resumes, "Like he was relieved you were safe."

That same word stiffens her all over again, and she replies, "That doesn't mean anything. It was only because of that stupid party."

She's simplifying the matter of course, but it is the truth essentially.

"Why should that mean it isn't relevant? He's a man; if he cares, he cares. It's as simple as that."

"He's right, you know." Daniel concurs.

She smiles because she wants to believe them, but there's so much they don't know, things that would alter their opinion on the matter.

"Let's drop it shall we?" Penny interjects, her voice soft, kind.

"Come on Daniel, let's go home."

Their eyes meet for a moment, and there's a look of understanding on Penny's face, and she knows her friend caught something in her own expression.

They're about to head out when Penny remembers something, "Ok, so see you guys at our usual spot tomorrow, yes?" She asks.

They both nod, and Penny and Daniel say their goodbyes and leave.

There are patrons in the diner for the rest of the morning, not many, but enough to keep her mind occupied and her thoughts at bay.

By the time she starts walking home the sun is beginning to rise, and though she doesn't know why, it feels like a familiar sight.

She wants to be satisfied with her present circumstances, follow her own advice. But the difference is, she can't let go of a past she doesn't have. She can't move on without it.

So, when she sees him the next night, she can't help but ask what he found out.

They're standing in the lobby, Angel behind the fragmented counter, and Summer before it, too preoccupied to even notice its cracks. He hesitates, doesn't say anything at first.

"She wasn't lying." He says, pulling out a small square from his jacket pocket and handing it to her.

She takes it, and studies the image before her. Although the people in the photo are familiar, it triggers nothing in her.

"She was your friend." Angel continues when she doesn't speak.

Looking back at him, she asks, "So it's true then that we lived together?"

He only nods, sensing the direction this conversation is heading into.

"There's more." She states, very clearly not asking him whether it is true or not.

He feels no real desire to keep the truth from her, well only in that it will probably bring her pain, but he knows that knowing nothing at all, is worse. So he tells her everything, although of course phrasing it as best as he can. He'd seen and heard some things about Cecilia, and although it wasn't good news that Summer was friends with her, it didn't mean she was the same.

Summer takes it all in with a grain of salt, having already anticipated the worst. She'd expected him to tell her a PG version of the truth, and he doesn't disappoint. That's why she knows what she must do.

"I want you to take me there."

Hesitation is written all over him at her words.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea…" He starts.

"Angel. I need to see it with my own two eyes."

She knows it to be true, knows it like the steady beat in her chest.

Without the right to keep her past from her, he nods.

So, the next evening instead of joining her friends for pub night, he takes her to the motel he'd visited yesterday.

She's quiet the entire time. Silent as they approach the rundown motel, even as Angel converses with the clerk, and gets them into the same room she and Cecilia had supposedly shared.

Her eyes cover the entire place, from the main lobby to the halls to the grime on the walls. But nothing about the place is familiar, nothing about 'Audrey's' life is.

However, it is exactly everything she expected to find. The moment Angel had said that they were indeed friends, she'd known what it meant about who she was.

So, only seconds after they step into the confines of the small room, she says, "Let's go."

She'd only wanted to come and see for herself in hopes that the sight of it would trigger her long lost memories, but it hadn't. It'd only helped to clarify what kind of person she most surely had been.

She doesn't speak the entire way back to the Hyperion, and he doesn't pry.

When they step through the front gate, she stops at the fountain, and sits on its ledge. She briefly remembers that she'd had plans tonight, that no doubt Penny and Sam were wondering where she was in this moment. It fades away quickly as she decides to worry about that tomorrow.

She's brought back to the present when Angel takes a seat next to her.

She can't help but notice the irony of their situation; just yesterday they'd been in this exact place, discussing Angel's history. And here they were again, only this time she was bringing up her own past.

Looking into his eyes, she makes a choice.

"I don't care anymore." She begins.

"If that is who I was, I don't want to remember."

Uncrossing her arms, she latches them on the cool brick ledge as she looks up at the night sky.

"You lost your way. Everybody does." He says, trying to consol her.

"You have a home somewhere…"

"And if so," She interrupts, "There's probably a reason I left it."

Unable to find the words it would take, he places his hand over hers in what he hopes will be a sign of comfort. Her head snaps down to the contact, and then to him, finding his eyes already on her.

Neither moves then, his cool hand still resting over hers, both hers locked to the stone underneath them. And then, the space between them starts to shrink, and she can't help but note that he's doing most of the 'shrinking' since her position (locked for fright of breaking the 'spell') doesn't allow for much movement.

She glances at his lips because at this distance, she can't contain herself; only moments later her gaze shifts to find his eyes on her own pout. And then, when he returns the look, she feels the sizzle of anticipation bubbling under her skin, and the space grows infinitesimally small, until it finally happens.

He kisses her.

It's soft and tentative at first, but then his free hand is gently cupping her neck, just under her jaw, and the kiss grows in intensity.

Without any thoughts left, she lets her stance go and places her hand on the top of his shoulder, gently skimming the side of his neck. And then he pulls away, a sparking flash ringing through her the minute his lips leave hers.

A rush of things happen at once: images and memories flood her mind, and in the haze of this, he disappears.

Her eyes flicker for a few seconds, and then she looks around.

"Angel?" She asks, her voice a breathy whisper.

* * *

Thanks again for reading!


	15. Chapter XIII: Before The End

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Warning: Set just as the chapter title states. Flashback chapter.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_**Quick and Bitter**_

_The end was quick and bitter.  
__Slow and sweet was the time between us,  
__Slow and sweet were the nights  
__When my hands did not touch one another in despair  
__But with the love of your body  
__Which came between them. _

_And when I entered into you  
__It seemed then that great happiness  
__Could be measured with the precision  
__Of sharp pain. Quick and bitter._

_Slow and sweet were the nights.  
__Now is as bitter and grinding as sand –  
_'_We shall be sensible' and similar curses.  
_

_And as we stray further from love  
__We multiply the words,  
__Words and sentences long and orderly.  
__Had we remained together  
__We could have become a silence._

_Yehuda Amichai_

_**OoO**_

His presence hauntingly close, wakes her.

"Angel?" She whispers.

There's no answer, but she knows he's there, so she sits up quickly. She tries to wake herself up by rubbing her eyes and upon seeing him, runs her hands through her hair to tame it out.

She sees him sitting in the chair across from her bed, grave, silent, and immobile.

His silence starts to alarm her causing her to ask, "Is something wrong?"

Yet again, he doesn't speak, just gazes fixedly at her, and the tension in their quiet forces her to shift her legs to the floor, and hastily shake the sheets from over her.

Just as she stands, and looks back over to his seat, he's already before her.

She loses sense of time and place when he touches her, and when his lips are finally on hers, she wonders if she's still dreaming.

She lets herself fall asleep at his side, but because she knows deep down that he won't last the night, her slumber is light, and fitful. When sunrise is only moments away, her eyes open as she wakes to his movement. He's stealthily sliding out of her bed, and he only doesn't notice her gaze because he's too busy trying to avoid rousing her.

Once standing, he locates his pants and throws them on. Everything else, he simply collects in his arms, and she's momentarily hurt by his urgency to leave.

He heads to the exit after he has all his things, and that's when she realizes that he hasn't turned to look at her once, not even a glance of guilt. She suddenly finds herself questioning, not his love, but the depth and colour of it. Just because her love hasn't changed doesn't mean his hasn't.

He releases the door but pauses at the threshold. His head starts shifting towards her, and she closes her eyes gratefully relieved.

She hears the door close, and opens her eyes, alone in the room once more. Even though he just snuck out of her room like a one night stand, she knows he loves her.

Just not enough.

Not enough to forsake his honor, to choose 'them' over his sense of duty.

She understands all the reasons why they shouldn't be together, they even make sense to her. But they've never truly mattered to her.

She hadn't really ever agreed with his way of thinking, but went along with his departures because she knew she really had no choice in the matter. Angel had made up his mind about their relationship 5 years ago, and nothing she said nor did, would change that.

Even despite knowing this, despite all the things that have broken them apart, and all the time they've remained so, she loves him still. She hasn't abandoned her hope that someday, their time will come.

What she hadn't bothered to consider was whether it was a vow worth making. Because here amidst his broken heart and her tenuous freedom, lies their moment, and Angel is as incapable of letting the past go as she is unable to let go of him.

For the rest of the morning, she stays in her room. She can't bring herself to go to him because it'd be like reliving another moment of the day that never happened, only this time, angel won't be abandoning her to save the world.

She doesn't see him for a full 24 hours, but by the time the Sun begins to descend on the second day, she decides to wait no longer. The world is a dangerous place, and apparently protecting it, is all she'll ever be destined to. So, with a stake in hand, she heads out into the night.

Things feel off from the get-go, the night eerily quiet, not a vampire in sight. Her feet lead her to the docks, Angel's favourite patrol spot, though he never seems to find anything there.

She arrives expecting the quiet tranquility of the water, but finds a demon she's seen just once. She only recognizes it by the large red stone in the middle of its forehead.

It rushes towards her, and she finds herself wishing she'd brought something other than her usually trusty stake.

He pulls out a long broad sword, and raises it over his arms as he turns to her. She throws her body to the side as his blade comes raining down, missing her only by a few inches.

She tries to get up, but the demon is too fast and she can't, so instead she rolls trying to put distance between them.

Just as it raises the sword once more to end her life for sure, his head snaps back, and the crystal on his forehead shatters apart. The rest of his body follows suit, until there is nothing of him left.

She gets up quickly, ready for whatever else is coming her way, when she sees Angel standing about 2 yards away.

She drops her protective stance and says, "I was handling it."

He doesn't reply, only glances around, his posture tense.

She focuses her senses too, but catches nothing,

"What is it?" She asks.

"We should go." He eventually says, grabbing her arm and leading her away.

He's too alert, and she knows too little to focus on the fact that he's touching her for the first time since their night together.

Once they're far enough away from the docks, she asks again, "What is it, Angel?"

By this point, he's let go of her, and his pace keeps him a few steps ahead of her. His footsteps halt, and hers do too, and then he turns to her.

"I'm not sure." He says earnestly, "But I am sure it isn't nothing."

He's cryptic as usual, and she decides to let it go. As soon as it is something, she's sure he'll let her know. Until then, she lets herself focus once more on 'them'.

Just as the Hyperion comes into view, and they're less than a few feet away from the entrance, he finally talks again.

"Buffy." He says as she opens the gate, causing her to turn back to him this time.

Her gaze is solemn as she waits for him to continue.

"About the other night…" He starts explaining, but stops when her attention is suddenly focused within the courtyard.

He closes the distance between them, and notices movement just past her. Only seconds later, he sees a familiar face.

"It's that time of year again boys and girls." Comes Faith's always bold voice.

They move into the courtyard, Angel steps behind her.

"Faith." Buffy says, breaking the quiet.

"B." She responds, then glances over at him and adds, "Angel. Hope I'm not interrupting, but no doubt I am."

In that moment, Willow appears at the top of the steps, before anyone can say anything else.

"Buffy!" She exclaims, almost joyfully.

The blonde slayer glances at Angel briefly then walks away towards Willow.

They embrace when they reach each other, Buffy trying to smile genuinely at her friend, but unable to produce much.

"Let me guess," Buffy finally says, "The world's about to end unless we stop it?"

"In a nutshell." Willow replies solemnly.

**OoO**

That night, after everything has been said and done, most of the newcomers have vanished into their rooms for the last decent sleep they'll have in a while. The immediate core have dispersed; Giles into one of the offices with his books, Willow is out on her own setting a protection spell around the Hotel walls, Xander and Dawn getting the slayers prepared and settled in.

Faith and a small group of slayers are checking out the immediate area, a task she'd thought of but hadn't ended up with. Giles had thought it more prudent for her to stay here, until Willow could complete her spell.

"Just in case." He'd said.

She knew he was trying to imply that it'd be safer to have her here in case of an attack, but she knew it wasn't that at all. When she'd stepped into the lobby and seen the entire gang present within the walls of the Hotel, she'd been instantly hit by the severity of the situation. That is, until she'd come to understand that they'd been handling it for the past two _months._

She wasn't angry, couldn't be, and had no right to be. She'd asked for time, and they'd given it to her. Instead, she felt shame with herself. For once again ending up the fool by choosing her heart over her head.

For the remainder of their 'briefing', so to speak, she couldn't even bring herself to look at Angel, such was her disgust with herself.

Since it wasn't a task the Scooby Gang was familiar with, no one had help set Angel on a mission, and since he still wasn't exactly the Angel of before, he hadn't spoke much at all. By the time everyone set out to their task, he'd sort of… disappeared.

Though of course, she knows where he'd gone. She takes the stairs because the elevators are still out of order, and the many flights up are nothing compared to the anxiety brewing inside of her.

He's standing near the ledge, peering out at the landscape.

With a deep breath she says, "Angel."

He turns around, and opens his mouth to reply her name, but she continues.

"Before you say anything, let me say this." She pauses, and as he remains silent, she continues.

"Everything that's happening…" She pauses once more, this time correcting herself.

"…_Happened_, with us, right now, is a non-issue."

There isn't much of a reaction in his expression, which tells her that'd he'd been thinking the exact same thing, although his approach undoubtedly wouldn't have included this conversation.

"The mission is what matters." She adds.

He nods, and doesn't say a word. They stand in silence for a moment, and she worries that he doesn't fully understand what she's trying to imply.

"You do get what I'm trying to say right?" She asks.

Again his head moves in agreement, but otherwise doesn't speak.

Her growing irritation precipitates in his continued silence.

"Meaning: you don't get to make choices for me. No secrets, no half-truths. We work together, as equals, or not at all."

All her anger ebbs away then, as the reality of her words truly sink in.

"It has to be like it never happened." She says.

"We have to be the way we were… before."

"I understand." He finally replies.

The un-reproaching tone of his voice causes her to say, concerned, "Not forever. Just for now."

He nods again, with a slight upturn to his lips.

**OoO**

As she heads down the hotel corridor, she can't help but notice how different it all looks.

For one, it's no longer just the two of them. Almost every room is occupied with both friends and allies alike, and the war they find themselves in the middle of is painted all over the place.

She heads out to patrol, unable to stay within the walls of this new Hyperion. Sunrise is still another 5 hours away, and so she remains focused, and alert as she walks the deserted streets.

An hour away from dawn, she's ambushed by a small group of demons. She's able to handle them at first, able to keep them at bay with her speed and agility.

However, for every one that she dispatches, another seems to take its place. With everything that's been going on, she's had little rest and less food, and so, she starts to tire.

Eventually, the opportunity arises and she's not fast enough to completely avoid the blade of one the demons as it slices past her stomach. The cut isn't too deep, but the pain is enough to send her to the ground.

In an almost laughably ironic way, she finds herself in the same position she'd been in the night the end had started all over again. Her attacker is a demon of the same variety, the one she now remembers to be from that day she'd visited Angel in L.A., shortly after thanksgiving.

Its arms are raised in the same manner, and in that second she wonders if this is where she's meant to end up. And although it doesn't happen in this moment, as Angel arrives with a group of slayers and slices its head clear off its body, she's been at the mercy of this particular demon's feet twice already, and with the fear she sees in Angel's eyes at their presence, she knows with absolute certainty that her life hangs in the bounds of what's to come.

He reaches her fallen form first, and before he has the chance to inevitably ask, she says, "It's only a scratch."

She moves to stand, flinching slightly at the pain it causes, when she feels his arm around her back and his hand leading her own arm around his neck, helping her sit up.

"At least he didn't stab me." She adds with humour, trying to break the invariable intensity of his touch.

He doesn't reply, just moves his free arm down under her knees and starts to lift her off the ground.

"I can walk." She says as she starts to fidget in his arms.

Bracing her tighter but carefully, he replies, "Don't."

The burning in her stomach from her movements causes her to relent, and stop moving.

"I can walk." She repeats, because although she knows the action would be brutal, it's a better scenario than being trapped in his grasp.

"Buffy." He responds, looking into her eyes.

"Just let me get you back, ok?"

Suddenly aware of the eyes on them, she acquiesces just to end the conversation.

"Fine."

He nods and turns to the others, "Back to the Hyperion."

Then, he's off, rushing back to his vehicle, her weight in his arms hardly a hindrance at all.

He gets her back to his car, and back to the hotel 15 minutes later, the ride quiet.

He shuts off the engine and reaches to open the door when she speaks.

"Angel." She whispers.

He turns to her, but remains silent.

The sudden realization that her life is as precarious as the fate of the world has played over again and again in her mind, and she finds herself wanting to bring up their night together, what now feels a long time ago.

She hesitates then, bearing in mind the possibility of his rejection, especially considering their present circumstances.

"I can walk from here." She says instead.

Releasing her gaze, and opening the door, he answers, "Fine."

When they reach their makeshift hospital room, set up in the main office, she lays on the bed they've set up.

He pulls out all the things he'll need to patch her up, and when he's by her side once more, she's already removed her jacket and lifted her shirt, exposing the wound.

He begins cleaning it gently, when he feels another enter the room.

Willow is at his side when she speaks, "Let me, Angel."

He looks at her, and then at Buffy, and reluctantly steps aside.

She feels him waiting in the background, up until Willow declares that she'll be ok.

And then, he's gone.

**OoO**

He only leaves because he knows they won't leave her alone for the next few hours, maybe even days. There is so much he wants to say to her, but he's never been known for his ability to share his feelings, sometimes not even with people who are close to him.

He can't bring himself to say the words he's withheld for so long, in front of a crowd of strangers, barely has the courage to say them to _her_.

This second encounter of hers with the demon that haunts his dreams, has only brought clarity to his greatest fear.

She's going to die.

Maybe not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but he knows, that someday, she will die. Hell, it's happened twice. Today is all they've ever had, and he's already lost so much time.

He rushes to his room, and grabs the book she'd finally leant to him.

He'd connected with the protagonist; a man who'd fallen into a life of sin, burned in a car accident of his own making. He'd survived, but barely, and the monster he was, visible for all to see.

And then, he'd met a woman who wasn't repelled by his scars, a woman who loved him, in spite of it all.

He skims past their story, and opens the book to the last blank page.

He begins to write, and because he's never able to say what he means out right, he starts with words that aren't his own, by a poet he'd really only brought himself to discover in order to get closer to her.

_It's all I have to bring to-day…this and my heart beside…_

Freshly inscribed, he takes the book to her room, and places it atop her pillow. Then he leaves.

**OoO**

"What happened while we were gone?" Willow asks once she's finished.

The question surprises her, forcing her to ask in response, "What do you mean?"

"You, and Angel, you're just… different."

Everything regarding them falls back into her lap, and with a sigh she eventually answers.

"Nothing's changed, Willow."

She gets up, despite her friend's wish, and adds, "I'm just going to my bed, ok? I'm tired."

Willow simply nods, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

She leaves the room, only to have Dawn waiting just outside.

Buffy opens her mouth to confirm her health, and ask to save everything else for tomorrow, but Dawn is faster.

"I'm just gonna help you upstairs, so you can rest."

They arrive at her room a few minutes later, and after giving her a gentle squeeze, Dawn leaves without Buffy having to ask.

She enters the room, feeling relieved once she catches sight of the bed before her.

As she approaches it, the familiar rectangular shape of her favourite book comes into view, resting on her pillow.

Sore, and tired, she thinks nothing of it, places it by her bedside, and gets into bed.

She falls asleep unaware that the next morning when she briefly glances at it, will be the last time she'll ever see the book again.

That evening all hell breaks loose, and only three days later, Buffy dies by the hands of a Mohra demon, without ever knowing that Angel had truly chosen her over the world.

* * *

A/N: You were probably expecting their bit of fluff to arrive, but we're not quite there yet. Soon though! I really wanted to include this chapter because the past so far, has been only bits and pieces. This chapter pretty much puts it all together.

Thanks again for reading and commenting and favouriting! I tuly appreciate it!

...and then there were 3!

...and an epilogue. haha


	16. Chapter XIV: Many In Aftertimes

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

What you need to know: POV change-up! Mostly Buffy.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**CHAPTER XIV**

**_Many In Aftertimes_**

_Many in aftertimes will say of you  
__'He loved her' - while of me what will they say?  
__Not that I loved you more than just in play,  
__For fashion's sake as idle women do.  
__  
__Even let them prate; who know not what we knew  
__Of love and parting in exceeding pain.  
__Of parting hopeless here to meet again,  
__Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.  
__But by my heart of love laid bare to you.  
__  
My love that you can make not void nor vain,  
__Love that foregoes you but to claim anew  
__Beyond this passage of the gate of death,  
__I charge you at the Judgment make it plain  
__My love of you was life and not a breath._

_~Christina Rossetti_

_**OoO**_

I know his arms are wrapped around me tight even though I can barely feel his grasp. I feel my life seeping out of me, and I know it's finally happening.

I'm dying.

I'm not afraid, but I'm not exactly ready for it either. I'd almost had it (almost had him), maybe not the traditional 'happy ending', but a life fit for a girl like me. Looking up into his eyes, I feel thankful that at least he's here with me.

"_Kiss me, Angel."_

With a look that'll surely haunt me forever, he lowers himself, placing his mouth over mine. The kiss is soft, yet filled with sad intensity. I hold on long enough to outlive the despair in our last kiss, till there is only my love for him, and his love for me.

And then, it happens.

In opening my eyes, I realize that I'm not where I was before. As I look around, I'm in a room that no longer exists. Sitting up, I glance out the window and the light is a warm sunny day.

For a minute I simply sit there, because the fact that I'm in my old room on Revello dr. is a bit too much for me to handle after just dying.

Once I get over it, I know it can't be the real one. So, I get out of bed and notice that I'm wearing silk pajamas. Deciding I don't want to have to do _anything _in silk pajamas that doesn't involve sleep, I go to the dresser, assuming my clothes will be there, since it seems everything else is.

I'm right, and I quickly throw on some real clothes. Quietly, I head out of the replica room of my youth. The hall is deserted, and as I head for the stairs I check each room, all of which are unoccupied.

I descend the steps and as soon as the front entrance comes into view, I see them; a man and woman I identify immediately.

Although I recognize their faces, Joyce and Giles, I know it is not really them. There is something grand in their demeanor, a kind of unyielding ambivalence to the harshness of life.

Her dress is soft and white, and while its sweetheart neckline and the curl of her hair give the one as Joyce a kind of softness, there is nothing kind about her. He, on the other hand, is dressed in a black suit that's all edges, and there is a sharpness I've never seen in him either, despite the position he always held.

"Who are you?" I ask when I stand before them.

"And why do you look like people I know you aren't?" My voice is defiant and strong, unafraid.

"We are the messengers, that is all." He answers coldly, obviously unappreciative to the tone of my voice.

The woman places her hand on his arm, and some of the tension he's built in the past few seconds, disappears. She smiles at me, and although it doesn't look natural, there is some warmth in it.

"These shells were chosen for your comfort, because of the regard you have for them."

I understand what the woman posing as my mother is really saying. They symbolize respect, authority.

"Whose messengers?" I inquire.

"We serve the balance. That is all you need know." The one as Giles says then.

Unable to avoid it, I scoff a little at his painstakingly predictable reply. Catching sight of the lit fireplace, I realize why this place looks like Sunnydale, for my 'comfort.'

However, I still don't know what I'm doing at this juncture, so I ask, "Why am I here?"

"We were all sent here, at a point between your world, and the next, so that you may make a choice." The Joyce look-a-like says passively.

"Since when do I get a choice?" I question sarcastically.

"Precisely." He answers, barely containing himself.

"Perhaps now you'll quit your insolence, and listen."

I surprise myself and relent. "What choice?"

He speaks again, "You were a great warrior, Slayer. Perhaps even the best. No slayer has, nor will ever face the challenges you have faced and endured. That is why you were chosen."

There's that damn word, _chosen_, like it was a gift. I open my mouth to offer a great big biting thank you, but he brusquely continues instead.

"Aware of the dangers you would face, for although there is much that can be done, there is much more that cannot be changed, so, a path was made for you. To help you bear it. But as you know, life cannot always be controlled. You were chosen, but the end you suffered was not. And so, we are here."

"What is the choice?" I ask, ignoring his spiel.

It feels pointless to get upset that he's trying to take credit for a life that is now over. The woman steps forth, and I try not to think of her as my mother.

"Your life as Buffy Summers is over, that is true. Soon, all that ever knew her will be too."

She glides over to me until she's standing before me.

"All except one." She says then.

I'm not supposed to have a heart here, but I feel it beating faster at the mention of him. She's staring down at me, and although I expect pity in her gaze, a different kind of sadness takes its place.

"As you might expect, Love, is not something we are familiar with. The vampire with a soul was meant to aid you, that is all. We could not have known, nor prevented, your love for each other."

"It is irrelevant…" The Giles look-a-like starts to say until she swiftly turns around and he stops.

Returning to her previous position, she smiles at me.

"This is your choice. You may choose to move on, be free of everything, once and for all. To return to where you've been once before."

In so many words, she's telling me I can go back to heaven.

"Or?" I ask, because what other option could there possibly be?

With another smile, she continues, "You may choose to return to him, to your vampire with a soul."

Her words are like a punch in the gut, and it takes me a few seconds to react. Then, the doubt finds its place in the forefront of my mind.

"They'd give me back? Just for him? Just like that?"

"If it is what you choose." She answers simply.

"What's the catch?" I ask, because I know there is one. There always is.

She smiles and replies, "You will be sent back, but you will no longer be Buffy Summers. Your body, your memories, will be gone, and you will take the place of another on the eve of her death, and at the one-hundredth anniversary of your own. "

The explanation is out there, but none of it makes sense to me.

"How am I supposed to be with him if I won't even remember him?"

"You will find him." She replies.

Unconvinced, I continue, "Let's say I do, so what? It won't change anything, he's still a vampire, and even as Buffy, I couldn't get him to stay with me. What chance would I have without… me?"

"Therein lies your choice. It is a risk you will have to take, if you choose him. But after all, it will still be you."

"And his vampirism? What's the point of giving me a chance if that will always keep us apart?"

"It is not our duty to spell it out for you, little girl!" The one as Giles exclaims suddenly.

"He will have to make a choice as well. And in that decision, lies his fate. Make your choice." He demands.

"There are no guarantees, but you are being given a second chance." The woman says then.

"Make your choice." He demands once more.

Despite all the nagging doubts, questions and suspicions, the decision comes easily.

"Angel."

"It is done then." Comes his voice. There is a searing light, and I'm alone once more.

For long moments, I just stand there. I have no clue what's supposed to happen next, nor how long I'll still be me.

"I'll explain everything." I hear a voice say behind me.

Turning around, I see a young Willow with vibrant red hair, standing before me. And this time, I know it is her.

"But I thought…" I start arguing.

"They're not big on explanations its true, but luckily, she has a soft spot for you."

"Who?" I ask confused.

She hugs me, and I feel it for real, and with a smile she says, "They don't like to come out and say it, but they were the Powers That Be. Usually, they use messengers, but she wanted to meet you, hence their disguises. And she's why I'm here right now. There isn't much time, so let me get to it. OK?"

I nod and she continues, "This place is not what you think, it's not a dimension or an astral plane. We're in a kind of… box."

After a pause she resumes, "Essentially, it holds you…"

Another silence, this one more apprehensive, "Together."

I frown, "What do you mean it holds me together?"

"On Earth, your body held you together, but that's long gone now. And you chose not to go… on just yet, so this place will keep you until it's safe for you to go out, so to speak."

Her response leaves me confused, and when I say nothing she speaks again.

"How it works doesn't matter really, what matters is that you'll be safe here within the house, I promise."

Trusting her I nod but feel the need to ask, "Why does it look like my old home?"

"Because this… is you. And Sunnydale, this place, that time… it's hard to explain but it was always when you were…"

"Happiest." I finish for her, knowing it's the truth.

She nods, a lame grin on her face.

"So what now?" I inquire instead, refusing to focus on the irony of that previous statement.

"Now… you wait." She answers.

"Until it's time for you to go back."

"A hundred years?" I ask solemnly.

"Technically… yes. But it won't feel that long to you."

I sigh, relieved. Then it occurs to me that for him, it will feel that long.  
The respite fades away, an ache in the pit of my stomach taking its place instead. The many things I hadn't had time to consider finally find root in my thoughts.

"But for Angel it will." I say, verbalizing the unspoken truth.

And then, the questions just tumble out of my mouth.

"What right do I have to do that to him? To just barge back into his life after all that time? What if he's moved on?"

The last query intensifies the knot in my stomach.

With a questioning smirk, she responds, "Do I really have to dignify that with an answer? Everything is as it _has_ to be, Buffy."

I get that she's trying to imply something, but with the peril in my mind, I can't decipher it. I'm about to ask her to just say what she means directly but she doesn't let me.

"Look. You will take the place of one whose time it is to die. You will not remember her life, nor your own. Once you find each other, the rest will be up to him. All he has to do is let himself love the you you're about to become, and he'll be free, he'll get his Shanshu."

"And if he doesn't?" I ask, because although I don't regret the choice I've made, I need to know what could happen.

"Then he'll stay the same." She answers sadly.

"Just don't let that happen Buffy."

Looking up quickly and then back at me, she gives me another hug.

"What's your part in all of this?" I inquire suddenly.

She smiles at me, and I get the sudden feeling that her part is a lot more involved than she's going to tell me.

"I'm going to help make sure it all works out."

"Meaning?" I ask, suspicious.

"Tell me."

She exhales and answers, "What does it matter Buffy? What's done is done. Besides, it was my choice. You and Angel deserve this chance."

Without saying it, I understand what she did. I feel the tears start to well inside me, because although it breaks my heart that she gave her life for our love, I'm not sure the knowledge of it beforehand would have swayed my decision.

"I've had a long life, longer than most. And I'm ready. You've died three times, I think it's pretty obvious you're not."

For the first time since waking here, I smile. And then, something tragic occurs to me.

"Will I still be a slayer?"

"No." she replies.

"That part of your life is over, remember? When all goes to plan, you'll both get to just be normal people. Can you live with that?"

My lips upturned for the second time I answer, "It's all I've ever really wanted."

"Good."

As if she hears a sound, she turns to the front door briefly.

"It's time for me to go." She says.

She embraces me then, and I get a strong sense of her vitality, her life, and for a quick moment, I feel a flash of regret for her loss. But then his face fills my mind, and I _know_ I've made the right choice.

She walks to the front entrance and opens the door.

"I'll come back, when it's time." Willow continues, turning back to me.

With a grin she adds, "It'll all work out in the end, you'll see."

Time passes uneventfully; the sun beyond my window rises and falls, and it feels as if I've been locked in here for weeks. Though of course I know that my perception of time in this place is wildly inaccurate, and undoubtedly it's been longer than that.

As if answering my internal debate, I hear Willow's voice behind me.

"Back on Earth, it's been exactly a century since you died."

I turn to her, and smile. She wastes no time and takes my hand, leading me to the front door.

"It's time." She says, opening the door, gold light pouring in as she does.

"I'm ready." I answer, crossing the threshold.

†

The brightness starts to fade, and it takes me a second to remember where I'm sitting. The dark steel door of the courtyard lies open before me and the stone ledge of the fountain lies beneath me; everything is the same, but it's different as well.

Because I'm me, Buffy Summers, not so recently deceased, but there's also this new part of my life and of me that I now remember and lived that isn't Buffy Summers: Slayer, at all. I was never sure how it was going to work out, but I definitely didn't expect I'd get to keep my past.

I feel his presence grow weaker, and I head out to the street in pursuit. Of course, he's nowhere to be seen, and I have no idea which direction to turn. But then I consider that he only just kissed me, and I know he'll come back. Running has always been his first instinct after all.

I head back into the hotel, everything inside so different from what it once was. I walk through the empty lobby, up the stairs to our floor. The door to my room comes into view, but I ignore it and go to his room instead.

It's almost the same as I'd last seen it, save for the large bookcase along the wall to my right. I glance down at the books, and recognizing the leather bound covers I look away, and catch sight of a small tattered rectangle resting at his bedside.

Called to it, I abandon the small entrance and grab the book from the shelf. I flip through it and as I expected, it's the book I once owned and loved, down to the faint yellow lines. I skim it right to the end when I discover dark black letters inscribed within.

_**It's all I have to bring to-day,**_  
_**This, and my heart beside,**_  
_**This, and my heart, and all the fields,**_  
_**And all the meadows wide.**_  
_**Be sure you count, should I forget, -**_  
_**Someone the sum could tell, -**_  
_**This, and my heart, and all the bees**_  
_**Which in the clover dwell.**_

_**These words aren't mine, but they're still true (except for maybe the bee part).**_

_**My heart has always belonged to you, but this time I'm going to do things my way. I can't walk away anymore, even if it is the right thing to do.**_

_**This, all that I am; demon and soul, devotion and my heart, is yours. Forever.**_

_**The world be damned.**_

_**Angel **_

The writing is his, and although the words seem unfamiliar for him, I feel a kind of relief run through me at them.

As much as everyone else has always been convinced of the depth of Angel's love for me, I never have been. I wanted to believe in his 'love me enough to leave me' approach, but it never swayed me, not even when his reasons made sense.

On the other hand, as for myself, it always felt like no one really believed in the constancy of my love for him. I was a just a girl, and everyone was certain that I'd someday love another more 'suited' for me.

So upon reading his declaration, I feel the small shreds of doubt simmering within me, disappear.

I leave his room with the book secure in my hand, calming me as I head into the room that was once mine. The door is unlocked, and I venture in slowly.

Inside, it is exactly the same as it was the night I saw it last. I walk within, my fingers skimming the surfaces around me as I do. But I pause then, a dark shadow catching my eye as I pass the mirror above my dresser.

I gaze at my reflection, caught by the unfamiliar face staring back at me. I run a hand through my dark hair, and touch the side of my face, taking in whom I look like now. It's all different from what I was, except for my eyes. They are the green they've always been.

After a moment, I look away and take a seat on the bed, and I wait.

* * *

A/N: Only a few more chapters left!


	17. Chapter XV:The Friend Who Just Stands By

**Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All familiar characters and situations belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.**

Super late as usual, sorry for that, but on the plus side, this fic is nearly done, and waiting for updates will be a thing of the past.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**CHAPTER XV**

_The Friend Who Just Stands By_

_When trouble comes your soul to try,  
You love the friend who just "stands by".  
__Perhaps there's nothing he can do—  
__The thing is strictly up to you;__For there are troubles all your own,  
__And paths the soul must tread alone;  
__Times when love cannot smooth the road  
__Nor friendship lift the heavy load,  
__But just to know you have a friend  
__Who will "stand by'' until the end,  
__Whose sympathy through all endures,  
__Whose warm handclasp is always yours—  
__It helps, someway, to pull you through,  
__Although there's nothing he can do.  
__And so with fervent heart you cry,  
_"_God bless the friend who just 'stands by'!"_

_~B.Y. Williams_

†

Though the vast landscape that lies before her is void of all pigment, its blandness is immediately recognized.

It's unclear why she's been brought back to this particular plane especially since she's already accomplished what she'd originally been sent here to do. By now, Willow was undoubtedly working at getting Angel back to where it had all begun. In fact, she didn't doubt the witch had already accomplished the feat.

Then there's the fact that she's here alone and Xander is mysteriously missing, especially considering he's been here every time she has.

"You will understand soon." A woman's voice behind interrupts her thoughts.

She turns to face the recent arrival, seeing her very own mother standing before her. Of course she knows it isn't truly her; this woman is far too serious and severe to be the superficial Mrs. Chase her mom had been.

She doesn't say anything, just waits for the Power to continue.

She can only imagine what this secret meeting will result in, and she knows for sure it's clandestine in nature because the woman's other half is brazenly missing and that had simply never occurred before.

Without any hesitation, the woman continues, "We are here to ensure the desired outcome comes to fruition. That is all you need worry about."

Cordelia briefly wonders if she can read her thoughts, but decides it's simply unimportant.

Instead she asks, "You mean like a back-up plan?"

With a wry grin on her face, the PTB nods.

"A fail-safe. In case the vampire refuses to relinquish his old ways."

She doesn't need clarification this time, it's exceptionally clear. She means in case Angel runs.

"If the time comes, you must give him one last push. Conversely, you must convince him without directly telling him so."

Two questions spring into her mind at the woman's words, the most crucial is uttered first.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

Something like a grimace fills her features, but she answers steadily.

"That you must work out yourself. It is imperative he come to the decision on his own. My brother will not abide interference."

"Well isn't this interference?" She states bluntly.

"In this moment, no. It is not." The woman answers cryptically.

Unable to contain it, Cordelia asks, "Where does he think you are anyway?"

All warmth seems to drain from her as she replies, "Do not let my appearance deceive you. We are not bound by earthly shape. We are, and we are not. We are simply as it is required we be."

She'd only ever felt menace from the brother, but in this moment, she truly feels the otherworldliness, and therefore danger, of this being before her.

After another pause, the Power That Be adds, "In this moment, I am required here. That is all you need know."

Understanding that she's perhaps gone too far with her 'Cordelia' ness, she only nods.

As if nothing had transpired seconds ago, the entity with her mother's face resumes, "It has been arranged for you and the other to assist the witch as needed."

She presumes the other is Xander; knows exactly who the witch is, but briefly wonders what she, and especially boy Harris, can possibly 'assist' Willow with.

"Use this time, and the knowledge you will be privy to, well."

Fearing the woman will disappear any moment, she blurts out her second question, "If the time comes, how will I know?"

With a significant smile she answers, "If the time comes, you will be where you are required to be. Until then, prepare."

A last look and she turns away, disappearing like the end of a brushstroke.

"Cordelia?" She hears a familiar voice behind her, and turns.

The new arrival is exactly who she'd expected, and because her heart is heavy with the potential resurgence of Angel's undying self-loathing, she smiles at him.

Oblivious to her state of mood and affairs he says, "Great. It's you again."

Without the spirit to banter back, she simply replies, "It's good to see you too Xander."

He looks almost surprised as he smiles abashedly. No doubt he's wondering about the lack of her usual witty retort. He's about to undoubtedly explain that he'd only been teasing, but she speaks instead.

"Keep your apologies, you didn't wound me. As if. I'm simply too preoccupied with the fact that we're here again to bother having a little repartee with you."

She forces herself back to her normal nature so that he doesn't notice anything, and by the smile on his face, she knows she's accomplished her goal.

She looks around and with a certain air of peculiarity, adds, "I'm sure there will be plenty of time for that."

In that moment, Willow arrives. Xander smiles, and the question that'd been in his eyes at her words, vanishes.

"Great. The gang's all back together. All we need is a musty old library and a mission to save the world, and it's like old times." She says sardonically.

"I'm glad you think so." Willow answers with a grin.

She begins whispering some kind of incantation and the whiteness around them starts to shift.

As it begins settling down, the old library of Sunnydale High surrounds them.

"You said it." Xander quips in.

"Better than all that useless white don't you think?" Willow asks her.

With a sigh, she replies, "I'd have preferred my apartment."

†

It's strange setting things in motion, watching over Angel, three parts of the original Scooby Gang leading Buffy to him. Meddling, without directly doing anything.

It's kind of ironic, that she's been sent, openly and allowed, to 'interfere' with their reunion. Yet, in case things went awry with a certain self- repugnant vampire, it seemed as though such action was strictly prohibited.

Deep down, she suspects it's because of what he is, and what Buffy is. Clearly, to one of those beings entirely not human, it makes a difference. He has to earn this chance, and she apparently deserves it.

She wants to hold Buffy responsible, her 17-year-old self begs her to. But she's no longer a kid, and knows it isn't the slayer's fault. Though she's only experienced very little of what Buffy had risked for the world, she knows she does exactly deserve this. And that's the crux of her blame; Angel deserves this too. She's witnessed a larger fragment of what he's done, and to her, it's no less than what Buffy had given.

On the other hand, there's the beast Angelus, and while he's separate from Angel in most ways, they are still one in the same.

"Cordelia!" Willow's sudden voice brings her back to the moment at hand.

"What?" She responds with an air of annoyance, so neither thinks twice of her lack of attention.

Xander's eyes seem… curiously intent on her.

With a look of slight confusion Willow replies, "Well? What do you think we should do?"

She didn't think she'd wandered long, but it had been enough that she isn't exactly sure what the petite redhead is talking about.

"About what?"

"What do you mean 'about what'?" Xander pipes in.

"What we've only been talking about for days now? You know, Angel avoiding Buffy like she's the plague? That 'what'."

It all suddenly clicks in, and she answers, "I told you both, he just needs time."

"It's been weeks already." He says unconvinced.

"He can't hide forever Xander. Sooner or later she'll find him, and after their little bookstore interlude, he won't be able to resist any longer. Trust me."

There's a moment of quiet, and while Xander prepares his next point, and Cordelia smiles knowing he doesn't have one, neither noticing Willow's loss of attention.

"Cordelia's right." She says, breaking the silence, her voice both relieved and resigned.

Xander and Cordelia turn to her surprised by her words. She's looking at an exact replica of the library's computer from the late nineties; only the screen allows them to see the world of the living, specifically Angel and Buffy.

"I thought you were on my side." Xander accuses.

"I was, until it started happening not two seconds after she said so." Willow replies, her eyes intent on the images moving in the frame before her.

Satisfied, a smirk finds its way onto Cordelia's face, but before she gets the chance to brag, Xander speaks again.

"You got lucky. Let's just leave it at that."

†

The solution comes to her easily enough.

And ironically, it's thanks to the library itself. She wonders if that's what the power had meant by her 'privy to knowledge' comment. She's spent as many days cooped up in it as Buffy's spent back on Earth (for some reason unknown, on this plane she feels time), and so, she's had time to peruse.

Back when she was alive, books had never been fun, mostly on account of the _types_ of books she'd been made to read. Not only where there the great bores of high school curriculum, there'd been all the ones about monsters and doom and gloom.

Now, she's had a chance to check out other sections of the library. As she starts to get into it, it starts to remind her of Angel. So when she begins moving into the world of verses and rhymes, she finds her answer.

She only hopes she never has to use it.

And then, of course it happens.

†

"You lost your way. Everybody does. You have a home somewhere."

"And if so, there's probably a reason I left it."

He reaches out to her and as he touches her, the screen flickers.

"This is it." Willow says, her voice slicing through the thick silence.

He inches closer, and when their eyes are finally locked on one another's, he kisses her. Success rings through Cordelia's mind until she sees Buffy's arm reach up to Angel's face. Everything about him starts to shift at her touch, and Cordelia knows he's going to run.

And then the screen goes blank.

Before anyone has a chance to react, a voice from behind speaks.

"Your part is complete."

They turn to the newcomer, and once more, though only to Cordelia, the female PTB stands there alone. Though this time, her façade isn't at all familiar.

"We don't even get to see what happens?" Xander asks bluntly.

"That is not required from you. You were only meant to aid, and you have done so. Now, it is up to them."

The woman looks at Cordelia for a second longer than she does at the others, and she knows this is her moment.

The Power doesn't utter another word, only smiles for the briefest instant. Then the library starts to fade, a fog filling the room until it's as if they're descending through a cloud and all she can see is white fluffy air. And then, she's alone.

The mist begins to lighten, and as it does the landscape around her starts to darken. When it disappears entirely, Cordelia realizes she's no longer on the familiar plane she's been on these past few months, but instead at a dock she knows is in L.A.

She only knows of its existence because of her time as a higher being, when she became privy to the knowledge of the day that never was.

A few feet before her, a man is sitting on a bench staring at the ocean out before him. Even with the lack of light and the sight of only his back, she recognizes him.

She stands there for a moment, unsure if he can see her or not (since, technically, she is dead), and wonders whether approaching him in this exact moment is the kind of interference she isn't supposed to make.

Without many options, and undoubtedly less time, she decides to simply move toward him.

He's looking up at the stars when she reaches his side, and sensing her own solidity, she takes a seat beside him. He instantly notices the movement and turns to her.

"Cordelia." He declares.

Unable to help it, she beams at him, her smirk bright and beautiful.

"It's good to see you too." She replies.

He manages a sort of grin, though by the look on her face, he knows she isn't buying it.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ignoring her expression.

She doesn't want to say anything that may break the rule, so she gets right down to what she knows she can say.

"I'm here to tell you a story. And it'll do you well to be quiet and listen carefully."

He says nothing, and so taking his hand in hers, she continues, "There once was a girl, innocent but strong, weighed down by duty, and therefore alone, in many ways."

His memories of Buffy buried deep, start to resurface with her words. In his mind, he can see the day he first laid eyes on her.

Cordelia continues,_ "Somewhere she waits to make you win, your soul in her firm, white hands. Somewhere the gods have made for you, the Woman Who Understands!"_

He turns to his long since departed friend, caught by the change and content of her words. These do not belong to her.

His face holds a question, but she doesn't answer. Instead, she only carries on.

"_As the tide went out she found him. Lashed to a spar of Despair, the wreck of his Ship around him— The wreck of his Dreams in the air." _

He isn't sure where she's going with this, but he does understand that the story she's telling is his. The early days in Sunnydale with _her_, bound by the truth of his nature, immersed in the horrors of his past, and aware of the perils he's yet to inflict.

Cordelia paces herself, knowing his mind is elsewhere.

"_Found him and loved him and gathered the soul of him close to her heart— The soul that had sailed an uncharted sea, the soul that had sought to win and be free—"_

She pauses for a moment, and there's a kind of intensity in her words as she adds,_ "The soul of which __**she **__was part."_

Her voice is all he hears aside from the melodious sound of the unwatched crashing waves. Although her words are of course those of a long since dead poet, it's as if they were written specifically about him and his slayer.

Because Buffy had done exactly all that, and loving her in return was definitely an uncharted sea, and he wanted nothing more than to atone for his sins and to be worthy of her love.

"_And there in the dusk she cried to the man, 'Win your battle—you can, you can!'" _

She breaks from her script for a quick moment to make sure it's all sinking in, and seeing the far-off look in his eyes, she smiles.

"_Broken by Fate, unrelenting, scarred by the lashings of Chance; bitter his heart—unrepenting. Hardened by Circumstance; shadowed by Failure ever."_

Her tale ties in perfectly with his past life. Broken by his truth on that fateful night of her 17th birthday, the days without his soul, all the blood shed. He recalls her tear stricken face as she plunges the sword deep within him.

A wounded man suffering in Hell until the sea green of her eyes brings him back to Earth. Burnt by his torments, some of Hell, though mostly by the weeks before he'd ever been there.

Set by what he'll always be, and what he can never be for her, he leaves her. But of course, not before he messes everything up one last time and dumps her in a sewer and nearly kills her again.

"_Cursing, he would have died, but the touch of her hand, her strong warm hand, and her love of his soul took full command, just at the turn of the tide."_

He considers the days on his own, from doing good and helping the helpless, to wildly spinning out of control until seeing her put him right again, even despite the fact that she'd sort of given him the brush off for his 'grand-childe'. His visit to Sunnydale and to her, had given him enough strength to last that long year with Wolfram and Hart. At least for most of it, because by the time Cordelia died, everything bright in him died with her.

"_Standing beside him, full of trust, 'Win!' she whispered, 'you must, you must!'"_

This reminds him of the end, well what he'd considered the end of _him_. When he'd lost everyone else he had left, but she'd shown up in L.A. with a tow of slayers and a witch behind her, and waltzed right back into his life.

"_Helping and loving and guiding, urging when that were best, holding her fears in, hiding deep in her quiet breath; this is the woman who kept him true to his standards lost."_

He recalls their win, accomplished only with her arrival, for the Angel he'd been was as broken as the city around them. And then she'd taken care of him again, choosing him over her duty. No doubt aware of what being together did to them and what bringing him back to health actually meant.

She must have known, that when the time came and he felt pushed to make that decision, he wouldn't make the same choice as her.

He relives the night they'd made love in her room across the hall, and after, when yet again he'd made the wrong choice and ended up watching her die.

Her voice sullen, Cordelia resumes, "_When tossed in the storm and stress of strife, he thought himself through with the game of life, and ready to pay the cost. Watching and guarding, whispering still, 'Win you can—and you will, you will!'"_

He wonders briefly if she knows of his life post-Buffy, if she's seen the way he's given up. He's about to ask, but he knows the answer just by the look on her face. Despite her youth, there are years of wisdom in her gaze.

"_This is the story of ages." _She continues, "_This is the Woman's way; wiser than seers or sages, lifting us day by day."_

Reaching out her free arm, she wraps her fingers around the hand she already holds, so that both hands envelop his one, and unbidden Summer's face appears in his head.

Cordy's voice remains persistent as she talks. _"Facing all things with a courage nothing can daunt or dim, treading Life's path, wherever it leads, lined with flowers or choked with weeds..." _

And then everything starts to make sense.

She pauses for a second, and when she resumes her voice is more forceful than before, _"But ever with him—with him! Guidon—comrade—golden spur—The men who win are helped by __**her**__!"_

She lets go and takes his face in her hands, turning him to her, until her eyes are fixed, and desperate on his.

"_Somewhere she waits, strong in belief," _Cordelia demands_, "Your Soul in her firm, white hands: Thank well the Gods, when she comes to you, The Woman Who Understands!"_

The story is finished, this he knows by the sudden silence. She stands, and he knows it is time for her to leave.

Looking down at him, she imparts one last message.

"_For this is Wisdom:_" She begins.

"_To love, to live, to take what Fate, or the Gods, may give. To ask no question. To make no prayer. To kiss the lips and caress the hair. Sweet passions ebb as you greet its flow._"

Placing her hand briefly on his cheek she finishes, "_To have, to hold, and, in time... let go._"

With that and a soft smile she leaves. He watches her fade away as quickly as she had appeared.

The view ahead and around is as it had been before she'd come, though he can tell the night is nearly over.

He returns to her visit, and though her story and words had been far from clear, somehow he gets the message. He's already faced this choice one before and by the time he made his decision it had been too late, and she never truly knew he'd chosen her.

He stands because truth be told, he wants Summer in his life, whatever that may mean.

And so, he goes back.

* * *

A/N: The poem she recites is The Woman Who Understands by Everard Jack Appleton and Wisdom by Laurence Hope. I came across these poems while I was researching, and they just fit so perfectly I had to fit them in. Sorry if you're not super keen on Cordelia reciting them! I find it strange too, but somehow, I think it works.

I changed this chapter multiple times, unable to find the right direction I wanted to take this. There are a few things that still don't convince me 100% but I've been working on it for so long now i'm sure i'll never be satisfied with it. And i've bogarted it long enough.

Big thanks to all of you for reading and commenting, and sticking with me despite my horrendous pace.

Next chapter up soon! (this time for real, i've already been working on it)


	18. ChpXVI: somewhere i have never travelled

Because nobody likes a vague DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

What you need to know: This is it. The end. That took a millenia to arrive. Literally. Sorry about that.

Thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

**CHAPTER XVI**

_somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond_  
_any experience,your eyes have their silence:_  
_in your most frail gestures are things which enclose me,_  
_or which i cannot touch because they are too near_

_your slightest look easily will unclose me_  
_though i have closed myself as fingers,_  
_you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_  
_(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose_

_or if your wish be to close me,i and_  
_my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,_  
_as when the heart of this flower imagines_  
_the snow carefully everywhere descending;_

_nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals_  
_the power of your intense fragility:whose texture_  
_compels me with the colour of its countries,_  
_rendering death and forever with each breathing_

_(i do not know what it is about you that closes_  
_and opens;only something in me understands_  
_the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)_  
_nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands_

_~E.E. Cummings_

**†**

There is something to be said about Angel's short journey back to the Hyperion, back to Summer. There is nothing significant in the actual walk, only in the path his mind takes. Cordelia's rather surprising visit had brought forth all the thoughts and memories he'd been suppressing for so long, forcing them to crash into one another like clouds. He let's himself get lost in the storm of it.

He'd been one of the lucky few in those early days; born into a good family with a good income. Sure, his father had been tough, and at times he was cold and unyielding, but ultimately, Angel had had it easy. And without any challenges to help him grow as a man, he stagnated into the drunken youth he died as.

Once upon a time, he thought the night he'd met Darla as his greatest mistake.

If he'd made the right choice, and walked away from her, he knows he could have grown into a better man. But he hadn't, and considering he hadn't been the most honorable of humans, for nearly a century and a half, he was a true monster. He killed and tortured so many, and enjoyed every minute of it. Blinded by his lust for blood, he then killed exactly the wrong girl, and he was cursed with his soul.

However, considering the soul that came back to him was weak, just as it'd been before, he spent a long time wallowing in his shame and pain, letting the guilt rule his life. That is, until he met her and he could no longer bring himself to regret the mistake that led him to her.

Then he fell in love with her, a slayer, and consequently, made many more mistakes in regard to that love.

This time, he's going to do things differently. He knows now's the moment to come clean with it all, and allow her to make her own choice.

This time, he'll do it right.

Just as he steps into the Hyperion's courtyard, it happens. It begins with his nerve endings; tiny microscopic flashes sparking his sensory system back into gear.

He stops moving, caught by the tingling sensation on the tips of his fingers. Shaking it off, he returns to his thoughts.

He knows he can't move forward and stay the same, be the unchanged Angel he's been for the past 100 years. It's time he embrace who he is now. Not human perhaps, but not entirely demon either. And while he knows he has very little to offer her, he can no longer attempt to control the outcome of his life, nor hers.

He inhales deeply, igniting his once dormant lungs back into animation. The intake of oxygen settles within him.

He can't stagnate with his past anymore, nor live immersed in it. Although he may never atone for his sins, maybe at least he can let go. And forgive himself.

It's here that his heart takes its first soft, subtle beat. The feeling entirely unfamiliar, feels like a shot of electricity. His heart starts its steady rhythm, pumping blood, his own blood, throughout his body, restoring life as it does.

Feeling weak at the knees, he sits at the fountains ledge. Unable to believe what his instinct is telling him, he places the palm of his hand over his chest. After a second, he can feel his heart pumping steadily.

He's human. Even though he'd never expected it, no longer hoped for it. Here it is.

Finally.

**†**

_Thick like a blanket the darkness surrounds her. The wind pouring in through the open window tussles her hair, and although it tickles her face at times, she likes it. For the briefest of moments, it makes her feel alive. Besides with the window open, she feels less trapped._

_The road is deserted, though with the lateness of the hour, it's to be expected. Anyhow, she prefers it this way._

_As the pavement flees away under the tread of her tires, she wonders about this eagerness she has to see him. As if his touch alone might heal all these new wounds, make her whole once more. It's a fleeting notion though, he can't fix her any more than he can himself._

_She always thought that when the moment came, when it was finally her time, he'd be around. Not to save her of course, but not necessarily just to mourn her either._

_She's always thought of their lives as interwoven, separated by so many threads, yet bound together as one. She had this notion that when the strand of her life was finally cut, he'd be there to see her off. But as her luck runs, he hadn't even been in the same dimension._

_They're to meet halfway between his world and hers. Nowhere glamorous, just at a small alcove for travellers off the highway. Right now though, in the wee hours of the night, there's just them._

_By the time she reaches their meeting place, he's already there. For a moment she considers pulling one large u-turn and driving off without even saying a word. Instead, she stops the car behind his, pulls the lever into park, and shuts off the engine._

_He gets out almost as instantly as the motor grumbles in ending. It takes her a split moment of hesitation before she does the same._

_"Buffy." He says immediately, though there's something distinctly different about the way he says it._

_And because she can't help it anymore than she can help from breathing she replies, "Angel."_

_He steps closer. Anxious for the feel of his skin against hers, she does the same._

_"I never thought I'd see you again."_

_And whether it's because he's now standing close enough or she's waited so long for this, she crashes into his arms. She suddenly senses his hesitation, the embrace doesn't end up providing the reprieve she thought it would, and so she extricates herself from his touch._

_"Sorry." He offers immediately, his tone apologetic. "I just..."_

_"Wasn't sure it was really me." She finishes with a sad smile. "I don't blame you."_

_She turns away, choosing the view of the skyline to his eyes. And while she does understand, she can't help remembering the night he killed Pete and done the same; her reaction hadn't included a reproach._

_"How'd she do it?" He asks after a few silent seconds go by._

_"Don't you mean why?" She mumbles derisively._

_His fingers latch onto her bicep, spinning her towards him._

_His eyes locked on hers, and his voice serious, he says, "You know I don't mean that. Do you really think I'm not glad to see you?"_

_He pauses then, and letting go of her arm, his demeanor darkens._

_"I am." _

_He continues, "More than I should be. But I need my misgivings or else..."_

_"I know."_

_ She interrupts, not needing more explanation, mostly because she doesn't believe a word of it. She hadn't expected this rendezvous to end all that happily, but she also hadn't expected it to end as abruptly as it seems it will._

_There's a moment of silence, and deciding to veer this train back onto the path it'd been on, she asks, "How is anyone brought back?"_

_And since she's not really expecting an answer (because everyone knows it takes dark magic to do it), she adds, "For the most part, it's just me."_

_"For the most part?" He repeats dubiously._

_"Does anyone come back from Hell the same?" Her tone matter-of-fact._

_"No." He eventually replies. "But you didn't go there Buffy."_

_She doesn't know how he knows that, but he does._

_"No, I didn't." She says, giving up the facade._

_With him she's never had to pretend, and she's comforted that at least that remains the same._

_"It'll get better. Just give it time."_

_She scoffs at his words._

_"It's easy for you to say that. You think because you went to Hell and I went to Hea..." she trails off, unable to say the word, "...that I know nothing of pain? Ya well, maybe I never went there, but this world... This is hell. And it always has been."_

_She takes a few steps back, the distance sobering her heart and bones back to ice. He remains silent as usual, and she feels the new her fall back into place._

_"I don't know why I came here, why I expected..."_

_"Expected what?" He finally speaks._

_'You to fix me' She leaves unsaid. Why bother with that truth? Without another word, she turns back to her car._

_"You're wrong." He says suddenly. _

_"I had heaven once."_

_His reference manages to halt her movement. She knows exactly what he's refering to, and while he probably thinks she doesn't know of that day, she does now._

_"It was perfect, and I was happy." _

_He pauses, and even without looking at him, she can feel his pain._

_"I was forced to give it up." He resumes. _

_"Believe me, Hell is a peach compared to that."_

_She doesn't move a muscle as she hears him move closer._

_"The memory stays with you forever, but at least it was yours. Even if only for a moment. People like us, can't expect more than that."_

_And there it is, like clockwork: his goodbye. And even with the tears she feels welling, she manages a sneer._

_"Right. The mission." Her voice bitter. __"What's heaven compared to duty?"_

_She takes the last few steps she needs to reach her car, grabbing the door handle when she does._

_"I'm sorry." She hears him say guiltily._

_She looks back to him. _

_"For what?"_

_"That it... I didn't save you." He answers, his voice soft._

_A sad smile finds its way onto her face._

_ "Ya well, I never thought you were supposed to."_

_She gets into her car, and drives off without so much as a look back._

**†**

She wakes then, seeing him standing over her, his arm extended towards the book in her hand, but he pulls it away quickly, and takes a few steps back.

Thinking nothing of his reaction, she simply offers a lazy, but utterly blissful smile.

"Angel." She coos, but saying his name seems to clear her mind, and she shoots up, the book falling from her hand.

"Summer."

She's confused for a moment, but then kind of smirks at him, because she knows something he does not. She doesn't speak.

"What are you doing in here?" He asks, compelled by the delight in her eyes shining too brightly on him.

"Waiting for you." She says simply, the lack of accusation obvious.

There's a moment of quiet, Angel because he's unsure of what to say, and she's too preoccupied with being this close to him as the new complete Buffy. And whether it's been 100 years (in his case) or just a few weeks (in hers) doesn't matter, she immediately picks up on the change in him.

"Something is different about you." She says because while she knows this, she can't yet tell what it is.

"I'm here." He answers with a smirk, though he's sure she won't get the joke.

Grinning back at him, she replies, "Aside from that."

Her words catch him, he didn't think she'd get his double entendre so for a few seconds, he says nothing.

"It seems there's something different about you too." He eventually replies.

She smiles but otherwise says nothing.

"I'm sorry for taking off like I did." He says then.

"I understand why you did." She replies.

"But you don't. Not really."

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"My soul," He begins, "It makes me different, but I was cursed with it. It was punishment for the horrors I'd done without it."

There's a brief lull, because it's a truth that'll always haunt him.

She can't take his pain, so she says, "None of that matters anymore Angel. Who you were, what you did, all that is past."

"I know." He agrees.

"But you deserve the truth. And I'm done making choices that aren't mine to make."

He looks away for a moment, glances down at his hands, and she knows he's reliving the past.

His gaze returns to her, and he begins, "Before I became a vampire..."

"You don't have to do this." She blurts out forcefully, interrupting him.

"You need to know the truth." He appreciates that she's trying to spare him, but he also knows it must be said.

"You have always left a lot out. And yeah, there's a lot I've always wanted to know and needed to say, but we'll get through all that... someday. You're here, and for now, that's enough."

Her intuitiveness always manages to surprise him, and this time it's no different. It's as if she's known him for years, instead of the few months it's been.

"Right now, there's something that you need to know."

She's not sure how exactly to proceed, but she decides to start with the basics. She stands, moving closer til she's before him.

"I remember." She states simply.

"Everything. My life. Who I was before I came to you that night."

"Day." He corrects.

She smirks, and nods. "Right."

"That's great." He says a little unsteadily.

He falters for a moment, as he quickly comes to the conclusion that 'he doesn't have to do this' because she doesn't intend on staying with him. Rejection washes over him, and he takes a step back.

He looks away, first at the door and then the room, everywhere but at her. She can feel him start to pull away and mentally berates herself for giving him the wrong impression.

She erases his step back by taking one closer to him. "You misunderstand me."

She reaches for his hand. He doesn't pull away when she takes hold of it, but his gaze remains determinedly off hers. And that's when she figures it out. So as much as she needs to tell him the truth, there is an excessively more pressing issue nagging at her.

"Your skin... its... warm." She says softly.

When it becomes apparent that even her subject change won't bring his gaze towards her, she drops it.

"Angel." She says, hoping this new voice of hers conveys the double meaning the Buffy of old said it with.

"Look at me."

He finally glances at her, a sense of caution on his face and in his posture.

She smiles softly, relieved by his eyes on her own, the pace of her heart slowing in response.

"It's me."

His brow puckers slightly, not immediately understanding what she's trying to imply. But as he studies her, he finally recognizes that there's something incredibly familiar about her great green eyes.

Unable to wait for his mind to piece it all together, she speaks.

"Close your eyes." She says simply.

Her words surprise him, and take him back to a night far too long ago, but he complies.

She places her palm to his cheek, surprised once more by the warmth of his skin. Needing to confirm what she thinks is happening, she slides her hand down, resting it casually on his chest. She feels what she'd hoped for, the unfamiliar thump of his once dormant heart.

She averts her eyes to her resting hand, as if to summon the beat visually, to convince herself of its truth. But it's there, and if there's such a thing as perfect happiness, this is it. With a smile on her face, and her palm pressed over his heart, she raises herself onto the tips of her toes, and kisses him. The moment her lips touch his, he knows.

It's been a hundred years (or maybe just a few hours) since he's kissed her, and perhaps he hasn't done it enough times, but he recognizes this kiss, and even though every practical thought in his head is telling him that it can't actually be her, he knows it is. But always fearing the worst, he pulls away.

"It can't be."

He looks into her eyes, and he doesn't know how he'd never noticed it before.

"Buffy?" His voice is barely a whisper, almost as if saying it too loudly might make it not true.

She grins once more relieved, and nods. Finally believing it to be true, he pulls her into his arms. She waits for the how and the why to pop up, but he doesn't utter a word.

"Angel?" She asks after a few seconds.

Reluctantly, he lets her go, but only far enough so that he can look at her face. His expression is one she's never seen before, an unrestrained genuine grin on his lips, one that reaches his eyes.

"Yeah?" he answers softly.

"Can you love me as a brunette?"

He chuckles lightly, happily, pressing another kiss to her lips.

"Even if you're covered with slime."

THE END

* * *

A/N: THANKS AGAIN to everyone! Hope it was worth waiting for. haha

I have something in the works and its mostly all done so when i do post it, updates will not be like this story. Again, thanks for bearing with me, you guys are the best.

Prologue may follow, maybe.

Feedback is always welcome!


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